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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


THAT 

GLISTENS. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

1887. 


I 


I 





4 





Copyright j 1886 , hy W. L. Stiles, Jr. 

\ ^mi ■ .1 ■ I 







ALL 18 NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS. 


CHAPTER I. 

‘‘Paint Rock shall be our goal,” was Edythe’s gay 
cry, and Jack spurring his horse alongside, away they 
dash at a mad gallop. Mad indeed, it seems over such 
a road. Slippery rocks worn bare of earth, deep 
sloughs of mud, then pools of standing water, whose 
beds are made of sharp three-cornered stones, form a 
typical North Carolina mountain road. Their horses, 
however, reared from colthood to such as this, dashed 
on without a slip or stumble; the few stretches of good 
road scarcely serving to increase their speed. “’Twas 
now the bay, and now the black, and now the river 
with its wrack”, that led the way till Paint Rock rose 
in sight : an overhanging mass, whose varied color has 
given rise to a legend that a neighboring tribe of In- 
dians, for some important service, admitted it to mem- 
bership and decorated it with their war paint. Be that 
as it may, as the two horses ended their wild run, 
Edythe’s black showed slightly to the fore. She, all 
her senses tingling, exclaimed : “ How glorious a run ! 


2 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


and, oil! I am so glad I won; it shows I was right 
about the two horses.” 

“How could mine do himself justice? He is too 
polite to win when a lady rides against him.” 

“ I am glad you put it on your horse and not on 
yourself. I know you too well to believe that you 
wouldn’t run straight. The river doesn’t seem to show 
any such courtesy. There it goes, actually laughing at 
us, in glee at our defeat.” The noisy roar did seem to 
soften to a merry murmur at the thought of how unsuc- 
cessful, all human efforts to surpass nature, must be. 

A few hours later the sound of horses hoofe is heard 
on the bridge, and Edythe and Jack gallop up to the 
Warm Springs Hotel. As they alight Mrs. Saxon, 
her mother, Ned, her brother, with Cissie Clayton, a 
sprightly looking girl with a piquant face, though not 
a beauty, await them on the porch. 

“Did you get your look into the seven states at last?” 

“ Edythe went it one better.” 

“Yes; we managed to make it eight. Jack said that 
South Carolina, Alabama, and West Virginia were all 
about the same distance, so that we might as well see 
all three, as any two. The others can easily be seen.” 

“Then,” asked Mrs. Saxon, “it repaid you for the 
rough ride up Roan Mountain and the walk to its 
summit ?” 

“ I should think so I The view was superb in every 
direction; but what we enjoyed most was, that way off 
in the north we could just see three or four peaks, 
which Jack said were the Peaks of Otter. The snow is 
on them still, and a thunderstorm was going on just 


THAT GLISTENS, 


3 


below tbeir summits. Oh! it was grand! A thick 
black cloud, rent here and there by the lightning’s 
flash, which lit up the three or four white spots rising 
out of the dark mass into a dazzling radiance. Then in 
a moment the dense cloud rose, closing round them, the 
lightning ceased and all was at an end.” 

And we descended from the sublime almost to the ri- 
diculous. We had a game of checkers.” 

Of checkers ! How did you manage for a board ?” 

‘‘ Jack’s domain furnished us with that. We were so 
high up that we likened ourselves to the old Greek gods 
on Olympus and divided what we saw. Edythe took 
North Carolina and, I, Tennessee. Then as the fields of 
brown alternated so regularly with those of green, she 
proposed a game of checkers.” 

“ What an idea ! ” 

“ Well, it was jolly up there moving our pieces about 
so many miles at a time ; we thought ourselves gods 
indeed. But I couldn’t play with Jack, for he took all 
my kings as fast as I could move them.” 

“ That was natural,” said Cissie Clayton, mischiev- 
ously, “ he wants to be your king himself.” 

“Nonsense ! I know him too well to make a hero of 
him, and a true subject ought always to do that.” 

“You see Edythe has received all her ideas on that 
subject from the devotion of the Jacobites, so don’t 
understand the modern notion of a sovereign who can 
be coarse and commonplace,” said Jack. 

“I hear them o’er the meadows the old church bells achime; 

O’er the twilight misty meadows, in the sweet spring-time,” 


4 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


rang out softly over the river, as the four were 
quietly rowing up the French Broad. The rapid cur- 
rent, and many rocks strewing its bed, required all the 
energy that Ned Saxon and Jack Harden, both of them 
fair oarsmen, could master. Cissie was equally occupied 
in steering, and to Edythe fell the pleasant occupation 
of entertaining them with her voice. Turning to the 
shore at last, they landed at the foot of Lover’s Leap, 
a mountain that owes its name to one of those numer- 
ous tales about an Indian maiden, disappointed in love. 
It rises sheer two hundred feet from the river. To 
climb its precipitous side had been Edythe’s intense de- 
sire from the moment of her arrival. At last, this, the 
day before their departure, she had persuaded her 
mother to allow it, and she and Jack were to scale it 
from the river, while Ned and Cissie were to ascend by 
the easier path on the other side, which she disdained. 
By hard work, availing themselves of every tree, every 
limb that could aid them, they steadily ascended; 
Edythe bound to achieve her aim. Though several 
times it seemed impossible that she should go on, yet 
skill and perseverance overcame every difficulty. When 
they stood at last upon the summit, Edythe’s cheeks 
were flushed, her hair slightly in disorder, was blown 
about by the wind, while her eyes sparkled with triumph. 
Well might Jack’s eyes rest for a moment on the picture 
she presented, before passing to the one that lay un- 
rolled before him. Old Round Top to his right, Roan 
Mountain looming up in front, mountains on all sides, 
rearing their grey, green or blue summits of every 
shape, save where at his feet the little village clusters 


THAT GLISTENS. 


5 


round the springs, or the river sweeping by, cuts its way 
through their midst. The sun, magnificent in its grow- 
ing force, lights them up in brilliant colors, or deepens 
their dark shadows. The bracing mountain air blows 
crisp and cool. Silence alone can express their feelings. 

At length she breaks it, “ How could that Indian girl 
have destroyed herself, when such a world lay about her 
with all its joys. I cannot understand it.’^ 

And may you never ! but then no one, who ever 
loved you, could be false to you.” 

After a pause, during which the reaction that always 
follows such a feeling of exaltation, affected her thoughts, 
Edythe went on, “ I sometimes think so much happiness 
cannot be good for any one. I fear it cannot last. My 

share of sorrow ” when her reflections were broken 

in upon by Ned’s gay voice : 

“ The longest way round was not the shortest way 
home this time.” 

‘‘How do you know?” asked Cissie. “We haven’t 
reached there yet.” 

“ You saucy minx! You don’t deserve that I should 
help you down again.” 

“ Nobody asked you, sir, she said.” 

Jack had drawn apart toward the brow of the hill 
away from the stream, and stood looking across at the 
one opposite. A cry from him brought them to his 
side. 

“There’s a forest fire just begun. I’m afraid it may 
prove a disastrous one.” 

Sure enough, there it was. As they watched its rap- 
idly growing proportions, their attention was attracted 


6 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


by a wagon approaching. It was on a road which 
wound around the hill upon which the fire was. Its 
occupants could not see it, hidden as it was by a turn of 
the road. How could they warn them? Their shouts 
could not be heard ; their handkerchiefs were unnoticed ; 
all attempts proved vain. Meanwhile, as it were, a 
tongue of fiame was rapidly making its way to the turn 
of which we have spoken. It is running a race with the 
wagon, whose driver knows it not. The flames reach 
the road just as they turn the hill. The driver is dazed 
for a moment, and in that moment a falling brand 
strikes the horses. Half mad with pain, and frantic 
from the fright, away they dash, into what must prove 
the gates of a fiery death. The driver is overcome with 
fear, and the reins fall from his nerveless hands. In an 
instant his companion has sprung over the seat, caught 
them up, and stands firmly holding the horses to their 
course. No use to stop them now. In their swiftest 
speed lies the only chance of safety. With a few Words 
he brings the other back to something like composure, 
and makes him keep the wagon free from the burning 
wood which now and then is blown upon them. A 
gallant figure, as he stands, head uncovered, hands out- 
stretched, and body thrown back, to give them steadi- 
ness by its weight, his eye ever on the watch for each 
danger of the road. The flames sweep on with roar 
and crackle, dense clouds of smoke are blown about 
him and many a burning branch lies in the way to 
almost overturn them as the wagon passes over. Tree 
after tree succumbs, while here and there a forest giant, 
survivor of former fires and the woodman’s axe, shoots 


TUAT GLISTENS. 


7 


up in flames a mighty torch, king among its fellows, 
even in their destruction. At last the end of this fiery 
path draws near ; hut here is the greatest danger. The 
fire has crossed to the other side and forms in one place 
a perfect arch of flame. An immense tree hangs threat- 
eningly over the road. If it falls before they pass, it 
will block the way, and nothing can save them. It may 
even fall upon them, to bring a more speedy, but no less 
certain death. As the crisis approaches, the girls cling 
together, nervously clasping one another ; Ned’s hands 
are clenched, his face is pale ; while even Jack, cool, im- 
movable as he is, shows unmistakable signs of excite- 
ment. The first driver has sunk upon his knees in ago- 
nized prayer. Above, a dense canopy of smoke throws, 
as it were, the darkness of death about them, waving 
and quivering, as though even the heavens were fearful 
of the dreadful doom that awaited them. The hand 
that guides the reins alone does not tremble, as he stands 
in the midst of this awful scene, undaunted. A fierce 
blow of the whip, and a cry of encouragement, are all 
that show he even knows the danger. They rapidly 
draw near; but even now the tree is tottering. Crack! 
it falls! “ Great God, can no one help them?” “ What 
a fearful death !” But no! it hung for an instant in the 
air, its flames playing about his hair as he passes under. 
Then it crashes to the ground just behind. He is safe ! 
A turn of the road hides him from their sight, and the 
tension on their nerves is relaxed. “ Gallantly done, by 
Jove!” exclaims Ned, as he mechanically prepares to 
help the girls, exhausted from excitement, to descend. 


8 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


Bright and early the next morning our friends are 
assembled on the porch ; for bright and early leaves the 
stage on which they begin their journey northward. 
The road on which it crosses the mountain is chiefly 
formed by the bed of a stream ; but in that glorious atmo- 
sphere no physical discomfort could affect their pleasure. 
The end comes all too soon when Wolf Creek is reached, 
where one of the old-fashioned inn-keepers gives them a 
dinner far more delightful than the best of caterers could 
furnish at home. Then comes a trip by railroad, cutting 
through dense woods, bridging dark ravines, in which, 
far beneath lie sparkling torrents ; then along the Pigeon 
Eiver, with its miniature palisades; then more woods 
and valleys, with many a glimpse of distant mountain 
scenes, that make the resemblance between the Land of 
the Sky and the Land of the Alps. 

“What lovely azaleas! How I wish I had some!” 
exclaimed Edy the ; but the others are strangely silent 
till Cissie, who has been studying a time-table, says, 
wrinkling her forehead : “ I don’t see why they allow so 
much time between the arrival of this train and the de- 
parture of the one North.” 

“Southern trains are always behind time,” Ned 
began. 

“There’s another reason, though,” said Jack, joining 
them, after a trip to the front car. “ This line likes to 
comply with all the wishes of its patrons, and we are 
about to stop for some of those azaleas Edythe saw.” 

The train stopped and backed. 

“You don’t mean to say you put them to all this 
trouble because of my idle words?” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


9 


“ They were glad enough of an excuse/’ 

Jack and Ned soon returned, their arms laden with 
the lovely blossoms. 

“Now you must try your fortune with one of these. 
They will just suit you, you are such a mountain maid,” 
said Cissie to Edythe. 

“ It’s a shame to destroy even one of them, they are so 
delicious. Besides, you’d name it Jack, as you always 
do, and I’m tired of trying it with him.” 

“ No, I won’t. I’ll name it some one you can make a 
hero of, as you said last night.” So Edythe broke off a 
spray, and pulled off the petals one by one. Just as she 
neared the end, a sudden draught blew the last two or 
three out of her hand. 

“ That’s a shame ! Now I don’t know whether he will 
love me passionately or not at all. Never mind, I shan’t 
try another. Who was it ?” 

“A man you must admire; for he is true and tried, 
that is by fire. The man we saw drive through that one 
yesterday.” 

The junction is reached, and soon they are speeding 
homeward. 


10 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER II. 

The theatre is just letting out, the curtain has fallen 
on the last chorus of the comic opera that is now all the 
rage. It is the winter following the scenes of our former 
chapter. Among the crowd who are pouring forth come 
two of our friends. Edward Saxon first attracts our at- 
tention. He stands six feet in his stockings and is built 
to match his height. Look at his face, the open, frank 
brow, well-shaped head, and firm, determined mouth and 
chin give signs of a character strong and true; while his 
dark flashing eyes and jet black hair, betray some passion- 
ate southern blood. N or do these signs belie him. Gener- 
ous, kind and true, yet his enemies and even more, his 
friends, know that, though he holds his temper well in 
command, if once aroused by any meanness or injustice 
it becomes all but uncontrollable and even dangerous. 
On such occasions it is his companion who soothes him 
most successfully. Their friendship is perhaps the result 
of their complete unlikeness. Jack Harden is as unlike 
Saxon in character, as he is in looks. The former is an 
inch or two shorter than his friend, and slightly made ; 
but in his face there is more intellect than in Saxon’s. 
In fact you see power in every feature, in the high fore- 
head, large, clearly cut nose, and wide mouth shaded by 
a bluish-brown mustache. His eyes, though, were his 
strongest point; a piercing gray, they seemed, when he 
looked at you, to see through your very soul. Enough 


THAT GLISTENS, 


11 


of his appearance. His character as has been said was 
the opposite of his friend’s. Careful and prudent as a 
rule, when necessary he was as bold and determined as 
any one. Loving books, as Saxon did sport, yet in the 
lighter games suited to his frame, he could maintain his 
part with some success. A fair cricketer; but a fine, 
though unlucky rider, it was in all intellectual games 
that he excelled. The greater difierence between them 
was in his temper ; he really had none, though he could 
assume it, if he wished. Jack was a lawyer; while 
Ned, preferring an out-door life, was in a railroad lead- 
ing from Philadelphia, where they lived. 

As they descended the steps of the theatre Ned said, 
“Let’s go to the Cafe Dubois. There’s sure to be some- 
thing interesting New Year’s Eve, and we haven’t been 
there for an age.” 

“ All right, perhaps we may be called upon to make 
ourselves useful by taking some one home.” 

A walk of less than a block brought them to the Cafe 
Dubois, the fasionable drinking saloon of the city. En- 
tering, they find seats at a table with some of their 
friends, who asked why they weren’t at Mrs. Harton’s 
party. Ned answered “ Edythe wasn’t asked, and I only 
go to parties to take her.” 

“Oh,” said Bill Paley, “I suppose that is since Gertie 
went South. You sly dog! I know you. You haven’t 
heard of Harry’s little adventure then ? ” 

“No, what is it?” 

“ Well, the party was given to the great Prima Donna, 
M’lle Arnot, as you know. Harry had never seen her. 
Soon after his arrival he was introduced by his hostess 


12 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


to quite a pretty young girl. His wits are wool gather- 
ing, as usual, so he don’t catch her name. Wishing to 
make talk, he asks if she has heard Arnot yet. With a 
smile she says, ‘Yes, and I am not as enthusiastic as 
most people, her voice doesn’t quite please me. How 
did you like her?’ Harry, the fool, thinks he had better 
run her down, so says, ‘her voice isn’t much and her 
face is as ugly as sin,’ with I don’t know how much of 
the same sort of nonsense. Mrs. Harton comes up 
bringing Jones. ‘M’lle Arnot, Mr. Jones.’ Poor Harry!” 

“Well done Harry” — and they all laughed. 

They go on laughing and joking when Paley turns 
to Jack and asks him if he has met the latest addition 
to Philadelphia society. 

“No, who is he? what is his name?” 

“Victor Roland. He’s a New Yorker, who has come 
to live here. Every one likes him, he is such a nice 
fellow. Parle Du diable et on voit sa queue. Here he 
comes.” 

A medium-sized, well-built, handsome fellow enters. 

“Here you are Roland! come join us won’t you?” 
shouts Paley. Roland, coming to their table, takes a seat, 
he talks brilliantly and they seem to take to him at once. 
The night passes rapidly. It is well on in the small hours 
when they break up. As they go up Walnut St., a boy 
somewhat under the weather, is calling out his own name 
and those of his companions, who can’t stop him. 

“How do you like Roland?” asked Ned, when he 
and Jack had separated from the rest. 

“I don’t like him at all.” “What? you behaved as 
if you did.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


13 


‘‘ Policy. I know nothing of him, so there is no use 
making myself disagreeable.’^ 

“ Why don’t you like him, to me he seems such a nice 
fellow, and took so much trouble to be entertaining.” 

“That’s just it. He took too much trouble. Never 
mind, like him if you wish. He’s not worth an argu- 
ment.” 

“Hold on. You’re coming to New Year’s dinner 
with us of course. But come up early. Edythe has 
some friends with her to receive, and she expects me to 
stay around and be useful, so come keep me company; 
there’s a good fellow.” 

“If Gertie were there you wouldn’t want me, I under- 
stand. I shall be up as soon as I can. Good-night.” 

The next day opens gloomy and storming, the rain 
comes down in torrents. While Jack Harden is making 
his way toward the Saxon’s, we will look into the family 
affairs of some of our characters. The Saxon family is 
now composed of mother, daughter, and son. Mrs. 
Saxon lavished all her affections on her children, her 
w'hole life was given up to their care. They returned 
her love as warmly, so for the past few years she had led a 
happy, contented life; lately, however, a shadow had 
been cast over it. Her heart had troubled her some- 
what, and when she consulted her physician, the dread- 
ful truth came out. Gently and with the utmost tact 
he told her that she could live but a year or two more, 
and any violent excitement would kill her. At first she 
w^as saddened by this announcement ; but her cheerful 
nature soon became resigned to her doom. Her duty was 


14 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


done. Her children were grown. Edward, at twenty-five 
was already well advanced in his profession. He was 
without any great faults, and would surely make his 
way in the world. Her only fear was for Edythe, whose 
youth and beauty would be left without their proper 
protector; but with Ned to guard her, yet still more, 
with her uprightness and strength of character to keep 
her from those pit-falls into which other girls might 
easily fall, she had little reason to fear for her. So she 
prepared herself quietly and calmly for her fate. The 
children she did not tell; for she was unwilling to cast 
a shadow over their happiness. 

Edward has already been described, and we can add 
nothing, except that between his sister and himself 
there was as deep an affection as between them and 
their mother. Edythe, lovely and warm-hearted, was 
the light and life of their home. Wherever she was, 
she brought happiness and sunshine. Though this was 
,her second winter in society, gossip had not as yet 
coupled her name with any man’s, and what is more to 
the purpose, for once gossip was right; a fact of min- 
gled pleasure and pain for Jack. He had known her 
for years; they had grown up together. He had been 
in the same class at school and college with Ned. They 
got in and out of their scrapes together, and stood by each 
other through thick and thin. Naturally he had seen 
much of Ned’s sister, and a strong friendship had arisen 
between them. In his case, as the years went by, it 
developed into the love of his life ; in hers — well lately 
Jack had begun to hope that he might succeed in arous- 
ing some kindred feeling. He was just beginning to 


THAT GLISTENS. 


15 


work himself into a good practice. He had many 
friends, and as he began to prove his ability, business 
was coming to him ; so much so, that he felt he might 
now try to win his love, for whom he could now provide 
a home. 

Here he is at their door, and taking off his things, 
after a word with Ned, he goes into the drawing-room, 
where Edythe is alone, waiting for her friends. 

‘‘How do you do. Jack? I am glad you came so 
soon ; but I wonder the rain didn’t keep you away, it 
is coming down so fiercely.” 

“You ought to know I don’t mind rain. Though it 
certainly is coming down now.” After a pause, “ The 
heavens seem to be weeping for the misery the year will 
bring.” 

“What’s the matter with you? You are gloomy and 
poetical at the same time. Did you have a bad dream 
or see a ghost last night?” 

“ Perhaps both.” 

“ Tell me about it. It will pass the time.” 

“You wouldn’t like it; besides — ” 

“Besides what? You are delightfully mysterious this 
morning. Come, you must tell me.” 

Here they were interrupted by the arrival of some of 
the girls; one of whom we shall introduce particularly, 
Ada Merton, a girl who has been out five or six winters 
(she says three), and is skilled in all worldly wisdom, 
a pastmaster of the art of fiirting, and the only one of 
Edythe’s friends Jack did not like. 

Cissie Clayton, coming in, turns on Jack. “I think 
it was downright mean in you to carry off Ned Saxon 


16 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


last night to the stupid old theatre just when I came to 
dinner.’* 

“ I am sure, if either of us had known you were com- 
ing, nothing, not even wild horses, could have torn us 
away.” 

“Oh you get out I Ned was only too glad to escape 
me. I do believe he knew I was coming and went off 
on purpose. Ever since Gertie went away, he avoids 
girls, as if we were red-hot pokers. It’s my opinion he’s 
afraid we might beguile him from her. He ought to 
wear a placard over his heart, ‘ all tramps found tres- 
passing on these preserves, will be arrested and dealt 
with according to law,’ though I don’t think it would be 
of any use.” 

“Then you think there would be too many for the po- 
lice to manage.” 

“Nonsense, none of us want his attentions. I hope 
Edythe will be luckier to-day than Helen, my cousin, 
was last New Year’s day.” 

“What was that? I don’t think I have heard it.” 

“You know the Walders, who live next door to her, 
don’t you ?” 

“I am sorry to say I have that extreme pleasure.” 

“Then you know that never by any chance would 
they have callers. My cousin had asked a few girls to 
receive with her. Just after they came, who should ar- 
rive but the two Miss Walders. They said they had run 
in to see if Helen could come over that evening to their 
house. Helen, of course, had to ask them to take off 
their things, and stay a few minutes. They did. Their 
few minutes lengthened into an hour, then two, finally 


THAT GLISTENS. 


17 


they stayed all day on some pretence or other, and when 
the cards were counted, set every man they knew down 
to their own account. For weeks afterward they boasted 
of how many (Wallers they had had.” 

“Good,” said Jack, laughing, “that reminds me of 
the story about a stick, who lived next door to a great 
belle. They both hung baskets at their front doors. 
The belle’s little brother took a great interest in the 
number of cards she received. On one of his inspections, 
he found about half as many cards as before. He 
. couldn’t understand it. Late in the afternoon, running 
to his mother, he told her that Miss Fitz (the stick) was 
stealing his sister’s cards. Sure enough, not having any 
of her own, she had quietly transferred about half her 
neighbor’s to her basket.” 

Victor Roland arriving stops for a moment at the door. 
Ada Merton at once stepped forward and introduced 
him to Edythe, saying that she had asked him to call 
there. Some one else at that moment came up to Miss 
Clayton, so Jack retired to a corner to watch the callers, 
particularly Roland, who is leaning over talking to 
Edythe in a most ardent manner. 

Bill Paley comes in, and after shaking hands all 
round, comes up to Cissie Clayton. “Oh, Miss Clayton^ 
how do you do?” (rattling it off at a marvellous rate.) 
“You don’t look as if you’d been up till four o’clock this 
morning. I suppose you enjoyed yourself thoroughly. 
How unkind you were to the other girls, it was really 
mean to them to look so beautiful. What was it that 
made such an alarming change. You were alarming 
last night. I was trembling all the time for my poor 
2 


18 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


heart. If there hadn’t been so many fellows round you, 
nothing would have kept me from popping the question. 
I can do it with one or two witnesses, but I draw the line 
on a dozen or so. There were so many, that I grew tired, 
and skipped off early. I am sure you must have missed 
me. Yes, of course you did; who can help missing 
me, the best dancer in the city. The girls here all dance 
fiendishly; they keep tripping over my feet, and put- 
ting their own feet where mine ought to come. Dear 
me I here comes Ned. How solemn he looks, almost 
as bad as you are. Say! Halloh! What’s the matter?” 
as Ned slaps him on the shoulder. 

“ Don’t you know that even the express trains can’t 
safely run over seventy-five miles an hour, and you were 
going a hundred at least ; if I hadn’t stopped you, you’d 
been off the track at the next curve.” 

“ He was off the track already.” 

“ There she goes again,” said Bill, “ if I don’t keep 
talking all the time, she’s bound to make love to me. 

* Two hearts with but a single thought,’ etc. My poor 
mind can’t stand it.” 

“No. I should think not. I see I must make a truce 
here, and to follow your example: ‘The quality of 
mercy is not strained,’ Bill — you stop your gabbling — 
and Miss Clayton, you must not lay siege to his heart ; 
it wouldn’t do for you to take him away from his crowd 
of admiring friends. You know he has the privilege of 
a court jester.” 

“‘A Daniel come to judgment. Yea, a Daniel.’ I’m 
agreed. If Miss Clayton will have mercy on me. I’ll 
shut up.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


19 


They have just left the dinner table, and are waiting 
for the men who are to come in the evening. Edythe, 
at Miss Merton’s request, has asked Roland to come back. 
Jack and she are alone in a little room back of the 
drawing-room. She insists on his telling her his dream. 

“ I dreamt I was in a large open field. I saw you 
passing by, led by a young, handsome man. You 
stopped every few minutes to pluck some of the lovely 
flowers by the wayside. I drew nearer. The man’s 
face was that of Victor Roland. Suddenly I seemed to 
see behind his disguise a cloven foot, and tail, and 
when his face was turned away from you, it wore a 
look of devilish malignity. Ned was near by too. I 
tried to warn both of you. Ned laughed, and I could 
not make you hear. He led you on slowly at first, but 
soon he began to quicken his pace. The stops for 
flowers became rarer and rarer. At length they ceased 
altogether; there were none to gather. The path had 
become rocky; rougher and rougher it became. I 
could see your feet were weary and shrunk from touch- 
ing the sharp stones over which you walked. The 
music which had accompanied you, at first beautiful 
and melodious, grew harsh and discordant. The 
country grew wilder and wilder. Great rugged masses 
of rock overhung the path, as though some fearful con- 
vulsion of Nature had hurled them up to threaten the 
life of any who dared the dangers of that road; still 
you kept your eyes fixed on Roland’s face, with a trust- 
ing, loving, happy look. I seemed bound with iron 
fetters, I strove my best to break them to save you 
from 'what I knew not. Ned seemed not to notice your 


20 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


danger; he too was fascinated by Roland, when, all 
at once, a dark, threatening pit gaped at your feet. 
Roland, with a wild, exulting cry caught you in his 
arms, as though to throw you headlong into the abyss. 
I shrieked I I swore ! and with a mighty effort I broke 
my bonds. Ned and I sprang forward. There was a 
crash, and I found myself on the floor, my table upset, 
the books scattered all about, and a pitcher of ice water 
spilt over my head and shoulders.” 

Edythe laughed. “So that is why you don’t like 
Mr. Roland? I know you don’t. You are getting 
superstitious. Come, take that frown off your face, and 
be nice to him. I like him ; that used to be enough to 
make you do so too.” 

“ It is still. He shall have no cause to complain of 
my behavior.” 

The evening is well advanced. Roland, after spending 
a good part of it with Miss Merton, is again with 
Edythe. He talks in a most empress^ manner, and is 
undoubtedly making an impression on her and she ap- 
parently on him. This doesn’t suit Ada Merton at all, 
so she rises, goes to the sofa, and asks if they can’t have 
a song. “ I do so love music, and Mr. Roland has a 
beautiful voice, though of course he denies it. Come, 
you must give us a song. Mustn’t he, Edythe ?” 

“ Of course, Mr. Roland, we all love singing here, and 
you wiU give us such a treat.” 

Victor goes to the piano and begins “At the Ferry.” 
His voice is an extremely sweet and true tenor, and 
as the last notes die away, “Love will last forevermore,” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


21 


silence steals over them, the truest approbation a singer 
can have; he has carried them all out of themselves. 

When Bill bursts out, “Oh ! I hope not. I hope my 
love won’t last forevermore; it’s so unworthily bestowed, 
it would break my heart to think it would be carried on ' 
to posterity,” glancing pathetically at Cissie. 

That young lady looks at him stonily and says, “It’s 
bestowed on yourself, of coume.” 

“Not at all. How can you think so? H love but 
thee.’” 

Ned, foreseeing a probable quarrel, breaks in “ Come, 
I thought I made a truce between you. You must keep 
quiet, or we’ll send you both home.” 

Order is restored, and Roland sings again. After- 
wards Edythe and Ned sing, and sing quite well. Then 
they have some old college songs, in which every one 
joins. Just as one of them ends. Bill begins again, 
“You have never heard me sing ‘My last Cigar,’ have 
you ? Edythe, you play the accompaniment, and you all 
join in, ‘’Twas off the Blue Canary Isles one glorious 
summer day.’” (Finding the key too high, he drops to 
a lower one.) “What’s the matter? What are you 
laughing at? I’m sure that was all right.” 

“Next time don’t skip quite so many steps. You 
tripped us all up.” 

“Very well, if you don’t like my singing, I’ll keep 
quiet. You don’t know what you’ve missed. It was 
the chance of your lives.” 

“ I don’t doubt it,” interrupts Jack. “ But there goes 
the coal on the furnaces, the polite hint that it is time to 
leave. Come, Bill, we must go. Say good-night; I 
give you half an hour to do it.” 


22 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“Oh, Jack, how can you? Just when I was going to 
give them such a sweet song.” 

“But you must have pity on them — and on your own 
voice; you might injure it by singing so much, and 
think how terrible that would be for us. Do have pity 
on us, and save your delicious voice.” 

“I will have pity, 

‘ Soft pity never leaves the breast 

Where love has been received the welcome guest.^ 

and as I am in love, I’ll say good-night.” 

After they have all gone, and Edythe has retired to 
her room, she sits for a long time thinking over the day. 
She thinks of Roland, as usual, comparing him with 
Jack; but not, as with most new acquaintances, unfavor- 
ably. Here is a far handsomer man who seems to talk 
better. There is something so fascinating about his face. 
Then, how much better he had judged Jack, than Jack had 
him. He liked him so much, while Jack had let that 
foolish dream prejudice him against Roland, and he took 
so many strong prejudices. Then, what a voice he had! 
Ah! Poor Jack had no voice whatever, while his, his was 
so sweet and clear. Yes, she will like Roland. Why 
shouldn’t she? Ned and every one but Jack does. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


23 


CHAPTER HI. 

Our friend Cissie is in her atelier, a cosy little place, 
furnished with all those trifles that a woman of taste 
knows how to use in inproving an already beautiful 
room. A few stray beams from the feeble winter’s sun 
come straggling in and seem to find her hair the most 
congenial resting-place. A pretty picture, with her 
easel before her, her brush and palette in her hands, 
and her coil of chestnut hair, with a streak of gold about 
it now, lent by the sun. So thinks Bill Paley, as he 
stands for a few moments on the threshold, thinking 
of what would be the most original way of announcing 
his presence. Before he can decide, she turns, and see- 
ing him, says, “Is that you, Billie? How in the world 
did you find your way up here?” Then she turns and 
goes on painting. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know. I followed my nose, as I 
usually do. If you will look at it, you’ll see how I did 
it. Having heard that this room was up-stairs, I began 
at the bottom instead of the top, as I usually do. At 
first, you’ll notice, it goes straight up, so I went right 
up the first stairs I came to ; then there is an infinitesi- 
mal turn to the right, so I turned to the right, and here’s 
just the same to the left (that big word would be too much 
for me a second time) then it goes along — Oh ! I say, 
you’re not listening. I won’t waste my sweetness on the 
desert air — well, I got here; but I’ll have to wait until 


24 


■ ALL IS NOT GOLD 


you go down to show me the way. That won’t be till 
pretty late, will it ” 

If you don’t behave yourself, it will be right away.” 

“ So much the better. I can leave as soon as I want 
without being truly rude. That’s a new dress, isn’t it. 
I must give my opinion on that. If I don’t like it, of 
•course you will send it back to the maker.” He puts a 
single eye-glass in his eye and begins to stare at her 
dress. “Well! You’re a bigger fool than I thought 
you, to have a dress like that cut bias, with a watteau 
pleat in the back.” 

“And you’re a bigger fool than I thought you, to 
wear a glass like that.” 

“Of course, that’s why I got it. I see all the fools in 
town wearing them. You all call me a fool, so, says I 
to myself, says I, faix and I must kape up me charic- 
tar, too, so I jist went down the strate and got one. 
Talking about dress, did you notice Ada Merton’s last 
night? Wasn’t it gorgeous ? ” 

“Yes, but much more suitable for a girl of sixteen 
than twenty-six.” 

“Poor Miss Merton: 

‘ Gay mellow silks her mellow charms infold 
And nought of Ada but herself is old.’ ” 

“I can match you there: 

*Can any dress find a way 
To stop th’ approaches of decay 
And mend a ruined face.’ ” 

“No, you can’t. Her face isn’t ruined by any means. 
We’ve settled Miss Merton. Suppose we talk of some- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


25 


thing more agreeable and — young. What’s this you’re 
painting? 

* Her awkward hand an ugly palette graced 
Where shining colors were, I’ll swear, misplaced.^ 

Oh, I see. It’s a bedstead, or a poor attempt at one. 
These brown things are the head-board, foot-board and 
frame ; that daub of white is meant for the pillows, and 
that mixed up blue coating, with the patches of white, 
for an old comfortable or spread. Yes, I see, but you 
must learn to paint better before you try anything so 
difficult.” 

I’ll teach you to call my new sea picture a bedstead. 
Wait till I catch you ; I’ll pour this all over you.” And 
away they go, rushing round the room. He dodging 
behind the tables and easels, while she was after him, as 
hard as she could pelt, with a tumbler of water in her 
hand. There is no telling how it would have ended, if 
Edythe had not arrived with Victor Roland. Bill im- 
mediately took refuge with her, and Cissie put down her 
w^ater, coming forward to greet her new guests. As she 
does so, Edythe says. “I was just telling Mr. Roland 
that this was nothing unusual; in fact that you two 
were always up to some mischief when you were to- 
gether.” 

“ You see, Mr. Roland, what a bad reputation my 
friends give me.” 

“ Undeservedly, I am sure.” 

“ I don’t know about that ; but it don’t matter. What 
lucky star brought you two here? I don’t believe I owe 
it to my attractions.” 


26 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


‘‘I had heard so much of your painting and your 
studio, that when Miss Saxon said she was coming here, 
I asked her if she would be kind enough to bring me, 
and here I am.” 

“ I am delighted to see you, and hope it won’t be the 
last time.” 

“Now that I have found the way, you may be sure 
it won’t. May I look at your paintings ? ” 

“Certainly.” Boland walks about looking at the 
various pictures. 

Edythe says, “Cissie, Ned and Jack have seats at the 
Opera for to-night, and want you to go with us. Mother 
is going. Come to dinner with us, and we will go down 
in the carriage together. Jack is to join us there. The 
Opera is Trovatore, and though that thing Dotti is to 
sing, so are Scalchi and Galassi, so it will be well worth 
hearing.” 

“Very well. I’ll come.” 

“You haven’t asked me. Now I shan’t go with you,” 
says Bill. “ I’ll go on my own hook. Can I come sit 
on the steps by you ? ” 

“Yes, if you don’t talk through the singing.” 

“Not talk once for three-quarters of an hour on a 
stretch, what a terrible penance for him. You are too 
cruel, Edie.” 

“Never you mind. I’ll do it. ‘They never taste who 
always drink ; they always talk who never think,’ says 
some poet. I’ll prove that I can think by not talking 
to-night.” 

“ I won’t believe it, till I see it.” 

“ Beg pardon, but, isn’t this meant for the rocks at 


THAT GLISTENS. 


27 


Manchester?’’ Roland points to the painting, at which 
she has been working. 

“Yes, but I can’t get it quite right.” 

“ I have been there ; perhaps I could tell you what 
you wish to know.” 

“ Could you ? It would be very kind.” Roland, in a 
most flattering way, points out one or two mistakes, 
answers her questions, and criticises her work with so 
much judgment, that Cissie exclaims: “You are an 
artist yourself. I am sure of it.” 

“ I don’t know whether I should call myself an artist, 
but I paint sometimes.” 

“You must show us some of your pictures then, 
mustn’t he, Edie ? ” 

“Of course; it will give us so much pleasure.” 

“ If you think so, I shall do it ; but I am afraid you 
will be disappointed.” 

“ I’ll soon find that out. After what you have done, I 
know you paint well. Would you rather paint or 
draw ? ” 

“ Paint. You don’t expect me to do it ofir-hand, now? ” 

“ Why not ? If you are the man I take you for, that 
won’t make any difierence. Let me see. What would 
you like to do? Oh, I know! We have plenty of time; 
you shall make a sketch of Edith. Come, Edie, sit here, 
that will be splendid.” Roland sets to work while the 
others keep up the conversation; Cissie and Bill, as 
usual, quarreling. In a short time Victor has finished 
his work, which is really quite a good likeness. Cissie 
is delighted, while Edythe thinks his success another ad- 
vantage over Jack. During the ten days that have 


28 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


elapsed since liis introduction, Victor has made rapid 
progress in her esteem. She has continued to compare 
him to Jack, her former standard of -manly character. 
Day after day she has discovered something, in which he 
excells him. He not only sings well, is handsomer and 
more attractive in conversation, but he is richer, dances 
better, has travelled more, and now he can paint remark- 
ably well, while Jack can’t do a stroke. Jack makes 
another mistake in dealing with women, he has too 
poor an opinion of himself. Women are very apt to 
rate a man at his own valuation, providing, it isn’t too 
absurdly high. Victor makes no such mistake ; he rates 
himself at his full valuation, and perhaps more, there, 
again, he has Jack at a disadvantage. 

After the others have seen the sketch, Roland looks 
at it again, and with an expression of disgust, tears it in 
pieces, saying, ‘‘I was an idiot to think I could do you 
justice. Miss Saxon.” 

Jack meets them at the entrance to the Academy that 
night. As Edythe takes his arm, she thanks him warmly 
for his flowers ; but when she takes off her cloak, he sees 
there are others there, too. At the first intermission, 
Victor and Bill come up, the latter, irrepressible as 
usual, says, “What think you now of our far-famed 
voice, M’lle Dotti? Her name was once Swift, but 
she went the pace too rapidly under that name, so she 
changed it. I’d like to meet her and say to her, ‘Nay, 
now you are too flat, and mar the concord with too harsh 
a descant.’” 

“ Nay. Look not at me so wildly. It wasn’t me, it was 
Shakespeare. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He was — ” 


THAT GLISTENS, 


29 


wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Bene- 
dict; nobody marks you.’ Perhaps you’ve heard of that.” 

While these two are having their usual tiff, Victor is 
talking to Edythe. “ What a pity, they have not a good 
soprano,” he begins, “ the other parts are so well taken ; 
that tenor, Mierzswinski, has an exquisite voice, if he is 
ugly, and has an unpronounceable name.” 

“Yes; but hers is frightful. It sets my teeth on edge. 
It is just like a tin pan. I wanted to hold my ears all 
the time she was singing. Didn’t you?” 

He leans over and softly says, “No, I watched you; 
that was enough to drive all thought of her far away.” 
Edythe colors slightly, and Jack, watching them, grits 
his teeth. Fortune, however, favors him for the moment ; 
the orchestra begins, so Victor goes back to his seat. 
Later in the evening, Scalchi has just won a triumph ; 
the house is wild; Bill is jumping up and down, 
shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!” As the applause ceases, 
Ned, who has been watching him with undisguised 
amusement, leans over and asks, “Since when has 
Scalchi become a man, that you shout bravo for her?” 

Bill is nonplussed for a moment ; but a happy thought 
strikes him, and he answers, “I am shouting for the 
voice, not for the singer. Hers ought to be a man’s, so 
I shout bravo for it.” 

“ Then you ought to shout bravo for the tenor.” 

“ You mean that Mierzflunky ? I will.” 


30 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER IV. 

A train from the South is rolling into the Broad 
Street Station. In the parlor car sits a “wee small 
mite” of a girl, with a fair, laughter-loving face. Her 
friends generally look upon her and call her a doll, a 
plaything; but those who look deeper think they see 
more. Jack always stands up for her. He says there 
is much more in her character than her friends give her 
credit for. “ She will astonish all of you some day,” is 
his usual remark. As a ijatural consequence he and 
she are the best of friends. 

“All beaming with light, as those young features are. 
There’s light round thy heart that is lovelier far ; 

It is not thy cheek — ’tis the soul dawning clear — 

Though its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear ; 

As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair. 

Is looked up to the more because Heaven is there I” 

Gertie Tremont is a cousin of the Saxons, with whom 
she has been brought up almost as a sister. She tyran- 
nizes over Ned, who is only too glad to be her slave. 
Sometimes though she is really cruel, forgetting how 
much pain she can give. 

As the train stops, Ned jumps on the car, and finding 
her at once, stoops down and kisses her. With an at- 
tempt at offended dignity, she draws herself up to her 
full height, about four feet ten inches, and scolds him : 
“How dare you, before all these people? I am ashamed 


THAT GLISTENS. 


31 


of you. You shan’t go home with me. Be careful of 
that little satchel ; it has my cologne and photographs. 
Give it to me ; it is too precious for your big clumsy 
hands.” 

Ned naturally asks about her trip, but she doesn’t 
say much. Then suddenly she breaks out, clapping 
her hands : 

“ I have it.” 

“ I see ; you must have it, to go shouting out at the 
top of your lungs in the station.” 

‘‘No, I mean I was trying to think whom your kiss 
reminded me of. Now I know ; it was Charlie.” 

“Who is he?” Ned begins to look jealous. 

“ Oh, he’s the man with whom I played ‘ Cornin’ thro’ 
the rye’ in our tableau at St. Augustine. He was tall 
and good-looking like you, and leant over and kissed 
me as you did just now. He didn’t kiss my lips though ; 
you’re the only one who dare do that.” 

“ Do you mean to say you let a man kiss you like 
that?” 

“ Of course, why shouldn’t he, if he wanted to ?” 

“What could Mrs. Lane have been thinking of to let 
you behave so ?” 

“Why, I am sure you kissed me just now without the 
excuse of a tableau/’ 

“ But I’m different.” 

“Yes; you mean you’re just like a brother.” (Ned 
winces, he don’t mean that, yet thinks he had better say 
nothing.) “ He had a better right.” 

“A better right. What do you mean?” said Ned, 
truly alarmed. 


32 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ I mean to say you’re a delightful fool. It is Uncle 
Charlie Leland, of course. Didn’t you know that?” 
and she bursts out laughing. By this time they had 
reached the carriage. As she settles herself back on the 
cushions, she begins: “Come, tell me all the news about 
that new man who is cutting Jack out, about Edythe, 
and about yourself. I have heard about you. I know 
you’ve been flirting with Cissie since I’ve been away. 
Wait till we’re married ; won’t I keep a tight rein on you 
then.” 

“When will that be? Make it as soon as you can, 
dearest.” 

“ I suppose, from what I hear, I had better make it 
soon or I won’t get you at all,” with a sigh. “Now 
don’t look as if you were going to devour me. I only 
said suppose, and now I think it won’t be forever and 
ever so long, if at all.” Then to make up for this she 
talks to him in a charming manner. When they reach 
home she makes him wait for her while she runs over 
the house greeting everybody and everything. All 
through lunch she is in a delightful humor, and doesn’t 
tease him once ; after it is over she takes him upstairs 
to help her unpack, as she says. As she opens her 
small satchel she takes a photograph from it, holds it 
behind her back and says : “ Here is that picture you 
wanted so much. What will you do for me if I give it 
to you?” 

Ned, thinking it her photograph, answers, “Anything.” 

“Anything. That’s a go. Here’s the picture, and 
now you must take me to the Msennerchor. What’s 
the matter?” as she sees his look of disappointment. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


33 


“ didn’t I write and tell you that was my favorite spot 
at St. Augustine, and didn’t you tell me you were so 
fond of it and would like so much to see it again ? So 
I got one of my numerous admirers down there to pho- 
tograph it, and this is my reward,” beginning to pout. 

“ Forgive me. I thought it was that one of you that 
you wrote about. Won’t you give me one?” 

“You are too greedy,” smiling again, “but I’ll be 
greedy too, and give you another to add to your col- 
lection, if you will give me a small gold serpent ring. I 
want one so much. Oh, how I do love you.” 

“ Really, Dollie, if I could believe it, how happy I’d be.” 

“Well, you may; but spare your raptures. It is the 
ring I love, not you.” After a moment, “ how unkind 
I am to you, Ned, I should think you would hate me. 
I know how to repay it though. You must go now. 
Tell Edythe I am coming to take dinner with her to- 
night. Now kneel down.” As he does so she takes up 
a wreath of flowers, saying : “ I’ll show you how Uncle 
Charlie did it.” She puts the wreath on his head and 
stooping kisses him on the forehead, then runs laughing 
and blushing from the room. 

She is right. She has repaid him for all her unkind- 
ness. Ned rises and goes away unutterably happy. It 
is the first kiss she has given him since they were 
children. 

Later in the afternoon Edythe and Gertie are in the 
former’s room, talking over their experiences since their 
parting, and making those confidences, which most girls 
make to their most intimate friends. Gertie is saying, 
3 


34 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ I want you to tell me all about this Victor Roland, 
who is cutting Jack out with you and Ned. I know 
he’s a rich New Yorker of good family, who has come 
here to live ; but what does he look like? ” 

He is dark, with brilliant black eyes, handsome, well- 
built, and of quite a good height.” 

“ A good height ! I know what that means, a short 
stumpy man.” 

“No; he is quite tall; in fact, about Jack’s height 
with a better figure.” 

“I don’t believe it. You only say so because you 
have fallen in love with him. I think you have treated 
Jack very shabbily. His figure is splendid. I like 
those tall, slim men. You can’t improve on him.” 

“ My ! what a partisan you are. I shall tell Ned to 
be careful; he will soon have cause to be jealous of 
Jack at this rate.” Just as she stops, in comes Ned 
himself. 

“What’s the row; you two quarreling? There’s 
something wrong here.” 

“Edythe has been running Jack down; but that 
don’t matter, as I stood up for him.” 

“No, of course not; but I want to hear something 
more about Florida. Did you like the Old Fort as 
much as ever? Have they found any more skeletons 
walled up ? You used to take such an interest in them. 
Did you see another bear swallow a little pig? How 
those two things scared you, when you were a small 
child. Let me see, that must have been at least — 
four years ago.” 

“Four! It was fourteen. I’ll have you know. I’m 
twenty, now,” trying to look stern and dignified. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


35 


“Indeed! How much the child has grown. Let’s 
see whether she is much heavier.” Ned picks her up, 
carries her bodily into the next room and puts her down 
on his mother’s lap, from which place she sits glowering 
at him. 

“ Mother, here Dolly has been trying to make herself, 
a Methuselah, and us, believe she can be dignified.” 
They all laugh, and thus he puts an end to what he 
thought might have been a quarrel between the two girls 
he loved the best. 

After dinner, the bell rings and the servant brings in 
Victor Koland’s card. Gertie, Edythe and Ned go 
down to the drawing-room. After about half an hour 
of general conversation, Gertie takes Ned ofl* to see her 
home, as she says she is tired from her trip on the cars. 

Victor and Edythe are alone. As the door closes, he 
says : 

“ What a bright, pretty little thing Miss Tremont is. 
A cousin, isn’t she ? ” 

“Yes, and she has been almost brought up here. Her 
father and mother are both fond of traveling, and when 
they go off, Gertie comes to stay with us, as a rule.” 

“ Your brother must like that arrangement ; beseems 
very much in love.” 

“I think he is; but I don’t know whether she re- 
turns it, she is so changeable; one moment I think 
she is very much in love with him, while at another, 
that she only likes him as a brother.” 

“ He is a lucky fellow,” with a sigh, “ how I envy 
him such a home as this, fortunate in love, as I think 


36 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


he is; with such friends, such a mother and — 
(such a sister he was about to say, but Edythe rising to 
turn down a lamp that is smoking, he contents himself 
wdth a look that tells her plainly enough what he means.) 
“How I wish that I were he; for I have no home, no 
family.” 

An album is lying open upon the table ; and asking 
permission to look at the photographs, he turns over 
the pages with a few comments, till he comes to one of 
her. It is certainly a good picture, so he says, “ What 
a splendid likeness ! ” 

“You think it looks like me?” 

“ As much as any image could * whose lips are dumb, 
whose eyes cannot change.’ Have you any others? 
Won’t you give me one?” 

Something, she knows not what, compels her consent. 
Though thinking she ought not, she says, “You can have 
that one; but ‘a fair exchange is no robbery,’ I must 
have one of you in return.” 

Meanwhile Gertie is saying to Ned, “I don’t like Mr. 
Roland, he has a selfish face. Why do you like him ? ” 

“Oh, he’s good company, and jolly; then he sings 
like a lark and paints well too ; he’s fine all around.” 

“What do you care about any man’s singing, while 
you have me? I can sing well enough, and paint too, 
for that matter.” 

“Yes, I have noticed that.” 

“Do you really think I paint well?” 

“Yes, quite artistically.” 

“Why, you used to laugh at me so, whenever I 
tried.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


37 


“I ! Never. You get the flesh tint so accurately.’’ 

“ Oh, come, you know my faces all had a Japanese 
tinge.” 

“No, I don’t. How many faces have you? You 
ought to go to the Dime Museum, as the girl of many 
faces, and the Japanese tinge would be quite a card, as 
everything of that nation is in fashion now.” 

“You silly boy! What nonsense! I am talking of 
portrait painting. Do you remember the one I painted 
of you ?” 

“ The one where you made my mouth so greedy, that 
my ears could only hang on by their eyelids to the back 
of my head? Well, I’ll never forget it.” 

“Never mind, if your mouth was rather large and 
your eyes looked as though they had had a fight and were 
trying to get as far apart as possible, I made it up on the 
nose; the nose was far handsomer than yours, that 
made things even, so it looked very much like you.” 

“ Yes, it was my very image.” 

“Well, then, how can you like Mr. Roland?” 

“ Doesn’t every one speak well of him ? ” 

“‘Woe unto you, when all men speak well of you.’” 
Then with beautiful inconsistency, “but Jack don’t like 
him and Jack’s always right.” 

“ The exception proves the rule ; he is mistaken this 
time.” 

“That’s just like you men. You’re all fickle. Here 
you are giving up your oldest friend for an almost per- 
fect stranger. I am ashamed of you! Go away! I 
won’t have anything more to do with you.” 

“I can’t very well leave you in the middle of the 


38 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


street, and I want to say this: You are altogether 
wrong. I wouldn’t give up Jack for anything in the 
world ; as long as I live he shall be my friend.” 

“Well spoken, Ned, and I’ll forgive you; but don’t 
you think Edythe is falling in love with Mr. Koland. 
If she does, it will spoil my. dream. She was to marry 
Jack, and we four were to live happily together.” 

“We may yet. If you wish it, I would like nothing 
better.” 

Edythe herself could not have answered the question ; 
was she in love with Victor? Sometimes she thought 
she was, at others not. When he was with her, she was 
sure she was, his eyes fascinated her so; and when 
he was singing, how he charmed her, how he carried her 
far away from everything about her. Did he love her? 
Could she doubt it? When she saw him look at her so, 
it must be true. Ah! How happy she was! Loving 
and beloved! But then did she really love him. At 
such moments Jack’s face would appear before her. She 
would think of all their past, and she was sure she loved 
him best; then Victor’s eyes would come again, and 
all was doubt once more. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


39 


CHAPTER V. 

A couple of weeks pass by, with their usual round of 
gayety. Theatre parties, dinners, balls, follow each 
other in quick succession. Victor is constantly seen at 
Edy the’s side ; though he pays Miss Merton some atten- 
tion. He has become quite the fashion, and is asked 
everywhere. Jack too, contrary to his wont, goes to 
many parties now, and the two are open rivals. Society 
cannot decide which is the most successful; sometimes 
thinking one, sometimes the other. Victor feels sure of 
winning her, and is playing a bold game. Jack, less 
confident, nevertheless often thinks that he will win; 
she is always so kind and gentle, even more so than 
usual ; though sometimes he thinks this is a bad sign, 
feeling that she would be more capricious, if she really 
loved him. The truth was, she feared that some day 
she might cause him great pain, and wished to make it 
up to him beforehand ; besides, she liked and admired 
him so much, she could not be unkind to him. She was 
still undecided as to which she was in love with. 

To-night, Ada Merton is giving a ball ; not one of the 
typical Philadelphia crushes, where two or three hund- 
red people are crowded into two small parlors (they can- 
not be called drawing-rooms) and a narrow hall. 

“She who invites 

Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, 

And dreads their coming; they — what can they less? — 
With shrug and grimace hide their hate of her.” 


40 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


No, hers is a small dance of about thirty girls and 
twice as many men, in a large house, with ever so many 
quiet nooks for the flirtatious. While down-stairs, three 
large rooms are thrown into one, and Herzberg is playing 
those delicious waltzes, that frequenters of Bryn Mawr 
know so well. Altogether everything that can be, has 
been done to make the guests enjoy themselves; for Miss 
Merton’s long experience has not been in vain; her 
parties are always thoroughly enjoyed. 

Entering the dancing-room, she meets Victor, who is 
looking at the dancers. “I suppose you are comparing 
our modest attempts at gayety, with those grand affairs 
of your own city. I fear we suffer much from the com- 
parison.” 

“No, if I were comparing the two, it was to think in 
how much better taste everything was here.” 

“You have to say that, politeness bids you.” 

“You are wrong again. I say it because I think it. 
With us everything is money. When W’e give a ball, 
each tries to outshine the other ; the result is a most 
gorgeous display without the slightest taste.” 

“ Then you think our entertainments surpass yours in 
some things?” 

“ In all things, except money misplaced, lavish vulgar- 
ity. I can say more. Your Assemblies are as handsome 
as any balls I have ever seen, and I have been in Lon- 
don and Paris. Except in the latter city, I have found 
nowhere such an entertainment as this; everything, the 
music, the flowers, the floor, is in perfection.” 

“ You must not leave out the men. What beauties 
they are! So tall and flne looking! If we could only 
import some more of you New Yorkers.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


41 


“Yes, I agree; your men don’t amount to much in 
looks ; but then the girls make up for that. You have 
the prettiest collection here to-night that I ever saw, not 
even excepting our New York girls, who are a very 
pretty lot.” 

“I flatter myself, we have a pretty set here. What a 
combination! With you New York men, and these 
Philadelphia girls, w^e could defy the world.” 

She is called off at that moment ; so Victor seeing that 
Edythe has stopped dancing, goes up to her. Jack has 
not been invited here, so he is happy. “ Won’t you give 
me a little turn?” he says, as Herzberg begins Mon K4ve, 
Waldteufel’s latest. Victor dances superbly; a long, 
swinging, gliding step, passing in and out among the 
couples without apparent afibrt, and never touching 
one of them. Edythe dances as well, and, as they seem 
to float about the room, many are the admiring, envying 
glances cast in their direction. They dance the whole 
waltz through to the very last note. The room is quite 
warm ; so instead of holding her right hand, Roland fans 
her with his left, making his fan keep time to the music. 
As they stop, she murmurs, “ What a perfect waltz ; if 
Waldteufel had composed nothing else, that alone should 
make him immortal.” 

“ He should indeed be blest ; I could have danced on 
forever then. But you must be tired ; won’t you come 
out here to rest?” So out they go, retiring to a con- 
venient corner. 

“Won’t you give me one of your roses?” 

“Since you sent them, of course I wull.” 

“ If that is the only reason you give it to me, I do not 


42 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


want it.’^ His face assumes so disappointed an expres- 
sion, that the thought of Jack, which led her to say what 
she did, completely disappears. She selects the prettiest 
of all her buds, and leaning over to fasten it in his coat, 
whispers “I was too cruel, I did not mean that. For- 
give me, won’t you? And wear it for my sake?” 

“ I would do anything for your sake. But you must 
forgive me, it was my mistake ; I presumed too much.” 

Wishing to change the subject, she says, “How good 
it is of you to be always sending me roses ; you know 
I love them so much. It must be so much trouble, 
though.” 

“ Trouble ! Nothing can be trouble that I do for you.” 

“I don’t know how I can repay you for all your kind- 
ness ; it distresses me sometimes.” 

“ Does it?” with a faintly murmured “ darling. Never 
let it do that. Some day I shall tell you something that 
will repay it all ; but for the present, set it down as but 
part of the homage all men must pay to beauty such as 
yours.” 

A little earlier Bill Paley came up to Cissie, and ex- 
claimed : “ I suppose you have been having your head 
turned by all the sweet things those fools have been say- 
ing to you. 

‘ What honor that 

But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear 
So many hollow compliments and lies, 

Outlandish flatteries.’ ” 

“There you are quoting again. When will your stock 
run out; it seems inexhaustible.” 

“ It is, or pretty nearly so.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


43 


“ I should think you would like to say something ori- 
ginal, and not be playing copy-cat all the time.’’ 

“ That’s just where you are wrong. As you all say, 
and I agree with you, I haven’t sense enough to say any- 
thing witty myself. As conversation should be the re- 
ciprocal play of wit, I learn all the good things the poets 
have said before me, and thus I play my part. Halloh! 
What’s Roland doing? He’s fanning and dancing at 
the same time. I must try that, too. Come, Cissie, let’s 
trip the light fantastic.” 

^‘And get myself killed. Not much; I have danced 
with you before.” 

“ Oh come. I have really learned to dance now. Try 
me. ‘ Oh, Cissie, come try me.’ ” 

“If you have really learnt, I will; but don’t bump 
quite everybody, please; a dozen will be enough to 
start on.” Away they dash, regardless of time. Bill try- 
ing to fan her at the same time. Bump! Bill strikes a 
girl in the back. He begs her pardon, starts again and 
strikes another. At last they reach a clear space, when 
Bill begins to take such queer steps that Cissie, though a 
good dancer, can’t follow him. He cries out: “Why 
can’t you keep off my feet ; that’s about the twentieth 
time you’ve trod on them.” But they are in the crowd 
again, and all his energies are concentrated on keeping 
clear of the others. His fan is a nuisance; but he won’t 
give it up, and trying to keep it straight is too much for 
him ; he is continually striking some one with it. Many 
are the men who wish him and his fan in Jericho. Finally 
he gets it mixed up somehow with another couple, and 
while he is trying to extricate it, Arthur Scorville comes 


44 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


swinging along; his partner’s train coils itself around 
Bill’s feet, and Scorville happens at the time to give him 
a slight push ; this is too much for poor Bill, and down 
he comes on the train. Luckily he let go of Cissie, who 
stands over him convulsed with laughter. True to his 
nature, he laughs as hard as any one, and then, still on 
the floor, exclaims with a self-satisfied grin ; “ ‘ Oh, w^hat 
a fall was there, my countrymen.’ ” Picking himself up, 
Cissie and he go back to their seats. “ I thought I was 
bound right through for China; wouldn’t you have 
liked to go with me? It would be such fun to see the 
men walking round upside down; then just think, we 
could have all the tea we want for nothing.” So he runs 
on, not minding his mishap one bit. 

In a moment or two Arthur Scorville comes up, so 
Bill, who can’t abide him, leaves. The former is a tall, 
finely-made fellow, with a considerable amount of brains 
and ability; but who is eaten up with conceit of himself 
and his family. There are very few in his opinion, who are 
good enough to associate with him. You can see this at 
once; he walks about the room with a most supercili- 
ous, self-satisfied air. When he approaches Cissie, he 
begins: “What an ungainly cub that Paley is; he 
ought not to dance if he can’t stay on his feet. It was 
as thoroughly awkward an affair as it could be.” 

She says innocently, “Why, I thought you had 
something to do with it.” He stares at her in surprise 
for a minute or two, and then changes the subject. “ I 
wonder how Miss Merton could ask the Collins here. 
Who are they anyhow? I never heard of them before 
this winter, now the girl is going almost everywhere; 


THAT GLISTENS. 


45 


their father was a blacksmith at one time, I under- 
stand.” 

“ He wasn’t anything of the kind. I know Lizzie 
Collins ; she is one of the sweetest and most lady-like 
girls I know, as well as one of the prettiest ; she is a 
friend of mine.” 

Scorville listens with an indifferent smile, as much as 
to say, her opinion don’t make the slightest difference, 
and then says : If Philadelphia keeps on running down 
this way, I shall advise my mother to bring my sisters 
out in some other city.” She feels like saying: “What 
a good riddance that would be,” but contents herself 
with — “ There are plenty of nice people outside of our 
old families, if you could only see that while birth is apt 
to make a difference, it doesn’t always do so. Blood 
don’t always tell.” 

He asks her to dance, and off they go. He don’t take 
the trouble to look around, dancing on weight entirely, 
and never thinks of apologizing when he bumps. They 
dance about, striking several couples, till they come near 
to where Ned and Gertie are dancing. Scorville has a 
way of moving his left hand up and down quickly ; he 
happens to have it down pretty low, and though Ned 
tries to keep out of his way, other couples interfere ; the 
result is, Gertie receives quite a severe blow on the 
temple from Scorville’s knuckles. She is compelled to 
stop dancing, and Ned takes her from the room for some 
water. Scorville hasn’t paid the slightest attention to 
her, not even saying “ beg pardon,” when he struck her, 
while Cissie did not notice it. They dance back to their 
seats, and other men joining her he leaves. Soon after. 
Bill comes back again. 


46 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ I suppose he’s been tiring you with his old ancestors 
again. He’s always talking of them, or thinking of 
them, which amounts to the same thing. 

^ Long galleries of ancestors 

Challenge nor wonder nor esteem from me. 

Virtue alone is true nobility.’ 

Speaking of that. Lord Langham wants to meet you, 
may he?” 

“Who is he?” 

“Oh, he’s an English nobleman, who’s here for a 
short time; he is good enough without much sense.” 

“Very well, you can present him.” 

“If he asks you whether there are any Indians in 
Philadelphia, tell him yes, that there is a connection of 
yours. He will ask if he can see him, say yes, and 
arrange a day for it at your house. I’ll explain every- 
thing afterwards. No, it’s no joke on you. On my 
word of honor it isn’t, you can believe that.” 

“Yes, I can; anyhow. I’ll try it.” And Bill goes 
off to find the Englishman. 

Gertie has had to go to the dressing-room with a head- 
ache, brought on by the blow she had received. She 
won’t let Ned take her home, so he goes back to the 
dancing room, furious, as might be supposed. Scorville 
is dancing again. Ned asks the tallest and heaviest girl 
he knows to dance with him; he then begins to follow 
Scorville, comes up behind him and begins to rap him 
on the back of his head. Scorville looks around as- 
tonished, but he can’t escape; rap, rap, it comes like 
rain, he has to stop dancing, driven off the floor, and 


THAT GLISTENS. 


47 


every time he starts Ned does the same thing; he is 
fairly kept off the floor. Furious, yet he can’t do any- 
thing, for Ned’s strength is proverbial and every one 
sympathizes with him ; at last he gives up in disgust and 
retires vanquished, while Ned is met by congratula- 
tions wherever he goes. The men tell him, they com- 
mission him to do the same at all other balls, and Bill is 
radiantly happy. 

“Lord Langham, Miss Clayton,” and Bill goes off 
with a wink at Cissie. “Charmed me to meet you. Miss 
Clayton, I have been trying to get — ah— an introduc- 
tion to you for the deu — beg pardon for an awfully long 
time, you know ? ” 

“ Indeed ! I feel quite flattered, that your lordship 
should notice me among so many pretty girls.” 

“ Yes, you American girls are — ah — quite charming 
you know. This is a deucedly jolly little affair, isn’t it ?” 

“Yes, Miss Merton certainly knows how to entertain.’* 
So they talk on till Lord Langham says, “My friend, 
Paley (jolly fellow Paley) tells me you have an Indian 
— ah — chief as a connection. Quite a curiosity. White 
Beaver, I think he said was his name.’* 

“ Ah, yes ; his half-sister married an uncle of mine.” 

“He’s the grandson of old Stick-in-the-mud, the Seneca 
Chief, whom Billy Penn gave quite a terrible beating, 
isn’t he?” Cissie answers with a smile, “Yes and our 
house is on the very spot where old Stick-in-the-mud was 
killed.” 

“Why now don’t you see? that’s — ah — queer? How 
I should like to see a native Indian.” 

“If you will come to our house some day, I shall have 
him there for you to see.” 


48 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“Will you really? Don’t you know, that will be so — 
ah — kind. When may I come?” 

“ Whenever you please. How will day after to-mor- 
row do ? ” 

“ Suit me down to the ground. That’ll be quite jolly 
won’t it? ” Other men come up and she goes off to dance. 
Ned gets a turn and while he leads her back to her seat, 
says, “ I’ve come across a good conundrum for you.” 

“What is it?” 

“ What is a categorical imperative ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know.” 

“ A term used in praxology to denote the thisness by 
which the ego determines the otherness of the which. 
Isn’t that a mouthful for you?” 

“ Where in the world did you catch a thing like that?” 

“Jack found it in one of those old books of his. Pa- 
ley or something of that sort. By the way, I wonder if 
he was any relation to Bill. I’ll have to ask him.” 

“I would, it will give him something new to talk 
about.” 

Victor is with Ada Merton once more, something is 
said about the neighborhood of Asheville and the W arm 
Springs, North Carolina. Miss Merton asks if he had 
ever been there. 

“Yes, and I had the narrowest escape of my life down 
there.” 

“I can tell you what it was. You had to drive 
through 'a forest fire, and a blazing tree almost fell upon 
you. Now, am I not a magician?” 

“ How did you hear that ? I scarcely told any one.” 

“A little bird whispered it to me. But no; Edythe 


THAT GLISTENS, 


49 


and some of her friends were on a hill opposite, and from 
their description and what you said I guessed it.’’ As 
they talk, her thoughts fly fast. If Edythe should hear 
this, it would probably turn the scale in his favor, so 
romantic is her nature. How often has she spoken of 
the unknown hero and admired his skill and courage. 
Then if Edythe makes up her mind, nothing scarcely 
can prevent their match. No, she must not know. He 
shall not tell her. This flashes across her mind, even 
while she is talking on indiflerent subjects. 

“ Mr. Roland you have often said you did not know 
how to return all I have done for you. If you are still 
of the same opinion, I can tell you something that will 
do so.” 

“Of course I am. What is it? .Anything in my 
power I shall gladly do.” 

“It is a simple thing, and you may think it silly. I 
have a reason, though I can’t tell you now why I ask it ; 
but I will in a few months. Promise me you won’t tell 
any one here, that you were ever in the ‘ Land of the 
Sky.’ ’ 

“ Is that all ? I promise it with the utmost pleasure, 
and shall say nothing from which they could in any 
wav infer it. You can take your own time to tell me 
why.” 


4 


50 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER VI. 

Ned has come up from the office early, and is at the 
Tremont’s talking to Gertie. That young lady is evi- 
dently very much out of humor about something, for 
her cheeks are red, her eyes flashing, and she stamps her 
foot, as she says, “ Then you absolutely refuse to take 
me to the Msennerchor ? ” 

“ Certainly. It isn’t a fit place for you to go.” 

“Who made you a judge of what is a fit place for me 
to go ? Besides, there’s your promise, and I gave you 
both the photographs.” 

“ I didn’t promise to take you to the Miennerchor.” 

“ Yes, you did. You said you’d do anything, if I gave 
it to you.” 

“ And so I will ; anything in reason. I gave you 
that ring.” 

“ That was for the other picture. So you are going 
to perjure yourself and break your promise.” Ned re- 
mains silent. Anger failing, Gertie makes up her mind 
to try what tears will do, so bursts out crying. “I 
think it’s so unkind of you, the very first thing I ask 
you to do, you refuse,” and she sobs furiously. Ned 
looks pained, but remains apparently inflexible, so she 
tries it again. Looking up through her tears, she says, 
“ I know why you w^on’t take me, you’re going to take 
some other girl there, so don’t want to be bothered with 
me. All you men are fickle. Here you’ve been swear- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


51 


ing you loved me, when you were in love with some 
other girl all the time. I didn’t think you could be so 
deceitful.” 

“ I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are. I know what I’ll do. Somebody 
else will be very glad to take me.” 

“ Not if I can help it,” he foolishly says. 

“ If you can help it? What have you got to say about 
it? You have no right to interfere. I hate you ! I hate 
you I I hate you !” And she runs from the room. Ned 
smiles wearily. “ What a vixen she is.” But he hasn’t 
changed his mind in any way. He has experienced her 
tempers before, aud knows they don’t generally last 
long. She runs upstairs to her room, only to cry the 
harder. She thinks how unkind he has been ; how ob- 
stinate. It was all his obstinacy. She will pay him up. 
She goes on this way, gradually becoming calmer, till 
she catches sight of her face in a looking-glass. It is so 
comical that she laughs heartily, but makes up her mind 
to make it hot for Ned, and any one, who saw her 
clench her fist, and shake it at an imaginary some- 
body, would have felt sorry for Ned. Unconscious 
of his awful doom, he shrugs his shoulder and goes 
home. 

Lord Langham has just come to see Cissie, who re- 
ceives him with a warm welcome. It is the time fixed 
for his interview with White Beaver. She tells him she 
will bring him in in a moment ; but before she goes, says, 
“ You know these Indians have peculiar customs, so you 
mustn’t mind anythkg he may do.” Then with appar- 
ent difficulty, “If you should miss something, don’t 


52 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


think anything of it; I shall return everything he may 
take to you before you leave. You know Indians don’t 
understand the distinction of meum and tuum.” 

“ How deucedly peculiar ! But I’ll not say anything, 
no matter what he does.” Cissie runs out of the room 
and soon returns with White Beaver. He is short and 
makes himself still shorter by leaning over as though 
bent with age. Stuck on one side of his head is a white 
beaver hat ; on the other, he has a red and yellow head- 
dress, apparently of colored hair. His face is wrinkled 
and covered with paint ; where the skin shows through, 
it and his hands, are a rich copper color. He wears a 
wolf skin jacket, the hair turned outward, and baggy, 
greasy looking buckskin trowsers. On his feet are moc- 
casins. About his neck he has a necklace of beads, and 
one of wampum, which, with a heavy stick in his hand, 
and a knife and pipe in his belt, complete his attire. 
Though his face and figure look so old, his eyes have a 
merry twinkle in them that seems quite youthful. As 
he enters, Cissie says, “ White Beaver, this is the pale 
face that wanted to see you.” Then she retires to the 
next room. 

White Beaver growls out, “ How ? ” and not noticing 
Langham’s proffered hand, walks up to him and delib- 
erately pulls his nose. Langham is naturally surprised, 
but remembering wdiat Cissie has said, does nothing. 
White Beaver begins, “ The Pale Face has come across 
the big water to see White Beaver. Pie is right. AVhite 
Beaver, he much big Injun, great Chief. His fathers 
much big Chiefs too, ruled over great land. All this was 
there.” At this, he flings out his arms, as a gesture. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


53 


His stick is in one hand, and as he throws them out, it 
strikes Langham quite a hard blow. He winces a little 
and rubs his arm. White Beaver grunts, “ Ugh ! ” At 
this moment the Englishman notices that his watch is 
gone ; but still says nothing except, “ I hear your — ah . 
— ^grandfather fought a great battle with William 
Penn.” 

“ Oh, yes. Skalowna, he my second father, my father 
his father. Pie great big chief. He rule many nation. ; 
Pale faces come here. He hear about them from other 
Injuns. They want treaty. My second father he say 
yis. Other much chiefs say no. My second father he 
vera vise. He no want to fight. Other chiefs say yis. 
Big fight. My second father, he bring much men, he 
rule many nation. Fight all day. Pale faces have big 
irons, fire come out, kill Injun dead. Injun he have none. 
My second father, he fight vera brave, he fight all day. 
When sun near down, he in this vera spot. He fight 
much hard. Pale face bring gun, he shoot. Skalowna 
dead. We run away. Remember well.” 

^‘You remember it well? How — ah — old you must 
be?” 

“ Yis, White Beaver vera old. Ten ten summers on 
top of him. He see ten ten freezings go by.” Langham ’s 
attention is attracted by the Indian’s head dress, and 
pointing to it, he asks him to take it off and let him 
see it. 

“No, no. Pale face look at it here,” pointing to his 
head, at the same time coming toward him. Langham 
examined it, and then asked what kind of hair it was 
made of. 


54 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“Deer. Big deer Tvith much big horns. How call 
you him ?” 

“ Elk, or Moose, perhaps ?” 

“Moosa, that him. Iroquois kill him up North.” 

“ Iroquois ? That’s the name of that blasted Ameri- 
can horse that won the Derby the other day. Quite pe- 
culiar, you know. Wonder if it comes from the In- 
dians, or the Indians got it from the horse ; must in- 
quire,” and he hunts for his note-book to put it down. 
The note-book is gone. He then feels for his pocket-book. 
That is gone, too. Really angry by this time, he says: 
“See here. White Beaver, this is quite too much, you 
know. I didn’t mind your taking my w’atch and note- 
book, but you might stop at that. Don’t you see it’s 
deucedly ungentlemanly to take a fellow’s pocket-book.” 

White Beaver stares at him for a moment, with a twinkle 
in his eye; then springing up, exclaims angrily: “Pale 
face lie. Me no want what him got. Me big chief, own 
much land,” w^alking up and down shaking his stick. 
Langham, who is ashamed that Cissie should have heard 
his angry words, tries to soothe him and at last succeeds. 
The Indian quiets down, and says: “Me no got pale face 
watch. All mistake. Pale face — Ugh!” This latter 
exclamation is caused by the sight of Edythe, Gertie, 
Ned and Jack standing at the door, listeniug to what he 
is saying, and looking at him with the utmost astonish- 
ment. “ Ugh, more pale faces come to see White Beaver. 
White Beaver much big chief. How? He steps toward 
Jack and is about to pull his nose, w^hen Jack knocks off 
his beaver, catches his wig, and cries, “ Hold on. Bill, 
you can’t fool me. Your voice has betrayed you.’ 


THAT GLISTENS. 


55 


Bill, seeing he is at the end of his rope, says : It was 
too had to stop my game that way; it wasn’t half 
played out. Here, Langham, here are your things,” 
handing him his watch, note-book, and pocket-book. 
Cissie, Edythe, and the others shriek with laughter, with 
the exception of Gertie, who goes over to where Lord 
Langham is standing, mouth wide open, looking first at 
Bill, then at Jack, and then back again, in perfect amaze- 
ment and horror. She says : “ It is too bad, my lord, 
that Bill should play such a prank on you. I’ll see that 
he don’t play another. What did you do it for, Billie?” 

“ Langham was so anxious to see a real Indian, all 
alive and kicking. I didn’t know where to find one, so 
I did my best to play the part. I think I succeeded 
pretty fairly. Skalowna, Stick-in-the-mud, ten ten sum- 
mers on top of him — Oh, Lord!” and he roars with 
laughter. Langham is evidently mad, so Gertie says : 
“Lord Langham is a friend of mine, so you must prom- 
ise me not to do anything of the kind, again. Won’t 
you?” 

“All right, I promise.” 

She goes up to the Englishman, lays her hand confid- 
ingly on his arm, and looking up at him, asks : “ Don’t 
you remember me? You must forgive Bill for my sake. 
He is not really responsible for his actions. He won’t 
do it again, as you are under my protection now. You, 
Bill, had better go and get rid of your outlandish rig.” 
Bill goes off, while the others try to pacify Langham. 
His ill-humor vanishes before Gertie’s smiles, for she is 
unusually cordial, flatters him most outrageously, and 
laughs at all his poor jokes. My lord is delighted. He 


56 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


is very susceptible, and as his latest idol has just been 
shattered in Cissie (for he can’t get over her part in Bill’s 
joke), he is quite ready for a new one. She takes him 
away to show him a picture; Ned and Cissie go off to- 
gether to enjoy Bill’s latest, so Edythe and Jack are left 
alone together. Jack asks about the Mertons’ party. 

“Oh, it was delightful! You ought to have been 
there. The floor was perfect, and Herzberg played that 
delicious, dreamy music you love so well.” 

“Don’t, please, don’t tell me of the pleasure I missed; 
but rather of yourself. How did you enjoy it ?” 

“ I had a very good time, but I missed you ; it is a 
shame you weren’t asked.” 

“ I am glad I wasn’t. I don’t like Miss Merton, yet I 
should have longed to go, as you were to be there.” 

“ Well, I should have made you go. But come, tell me 
something of yourself; how is your business? You 
haven’t told me of it for ever so long ?” 

“ I thought it would bore you.” 

“Bore me? How could anything that concerns you 
bore me ? I’ll play father confessor. I want to have 
one of those confidential talks we used to have.” 

“ Where shall I begin ?” 

“How is your practice ; has it grown much?” 

“Yes, decidedly; I am only waiting till the ending of 
one suit, to feel perfectly independent. Then I will — 
never mind I shall tell you then.” 

“How is your connection with the R. R. coming 

on ; you were so hopeful about it when I last talked with 
you?” 

“ It has far exceeded my expectations. I have the run 


THAT GLISTENS. 


57 


of most of their business now. I’m afraid, though, it will 
prove rather a bore in one case.” 

“ What is that?” 

They think I ought to go South to attend to some 
business for them, when there isn’t any earthly use in 
my going ; but of course if they want me to, I shall have 
to go.” 

“ When will that be ?” 

“ Pretty soon, I fear.” 

“ That’s too bad ; we will miss you so much, all of us.” 

“ If I could be sure that you would miss me, it would 
go far toward consoling me for being away from you.” 

‘‘Then be sure, for I shall miss you very, very much.” 
Here they are interrupted by the return of Ned and 
Cissie. 

Gertie is saying to Langham, “ I hope your lordship 
is pleased with America?” 

“Ah, yes, America’s a jolly little place. You have 
such deucedly pretty girls here, you know\” 

“You think so? That is flattery, indeed, for a man of 
your experience must be a good judge of beauty. I thank 
you on their behalf.” 

“ Don’t — ah — mention it. It is only what you deserve ; 
you certainly do take the shine out of our English girls, 
though it would be quite hard to take it out of their red 
cheeks. Ha! ha! ha!” He laughs as though he had 
said something unusually bright. Gertie, the hypocrite, 
laughs too, and looking naively up at him, says ; “ How 
clever you are. Lord Langham, now I couldn’t have 
said that if I had thought over it from now till dooms- 
day.” 


58 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


Oh, really now, you could, you know, if you’d only 
try ; it’s so easy.” 

When she says good-bye, she gives him a pressing in- 
vitation to come to visit her; Langham, of course, ac- 
cepts. 

Ned is disgusted, and on the way home, asks: “Dolly, 
where did you ever meet Lord Langham before? You 
didn’t tell me you knew him.” 

“Didn’t I? I thought I had, but it don’t matter. 
Why should I tell you everything?” 

“Where did you meet him?” 

“On my way from the South, he had a section op- 
posite ours in the sleeping car. I had some trouble 
about my trunks. He heard it, asked if he could do 
anything, then flew around making such a fuss, that I 
soon got my trunks. He made them hold the train so 
they might catch it. Then he came all the way to Bal- 
timore, so you see I saw quite a little of him.” 

Ned is in a particularly bad humor this afternoon, so 
he foolishly asks, “ And you let him talk to you all the 
way home without an introduction?” 

“I don’t know that he talked all the way home, but 
after what he did for me, it would have been absurd 
prudery. I know what’s the matter with you ; you are 
jealous, you know you are. Come stop it, it don’t 
become you.” 

“ But I’m not jealous. Only I don’t admire Langham ; 
he is a fop and a fool.” 

“I wouldn’t lose my temper about it. I think he is 
an extremely nice fellow. He isn’t as unkind as some 
people I know. He would take me to the Msennerchor, 
if I asked him.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


59 


“ By all means, ask him then.” 

“Well, maybe I shall. What advice you are giving 
me! How you have changed your mind! If you wish 
it, of course I shall ask him; I always do what you 
say.” 

“ If you ask him and he takes you, you are both bigger 
fools than I thought you.” 

“ Thank you, you are vety complimentary this even- 
ing, but I know the cause; you are so charmed with 
Lord Langham. Here we are at home. In such a 
humor you’re not pleasant, so I shan’t ask you in. Good- 
bye, Lord Langham is just the kind of a man I could 
fall in love with,” running upstairs she leaves Ned swear- 
ing at all the lords in creation. She has already begun 
to pay him up. 

Rather a different parting is going on between Edythe 
and Jack; for she is saying, “Good-bye Jack. I do 
hope you won’t have to go ; I should miss you so much.” 
That confidential talk had brought old times back so 
vividly to her mind, that she is sure she loves Jack, not 
Victor. 




60 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER VII. 

Lord Langliam is a constant visitor at the Tremont’s 
He had called the next day and has become very devoted 
to Gertie. She receives his attentions good-naturedly 
enough, and certainly gives him some encouragement, 
particularly when Ned is in the neighborhood. The 
latter justly incensed, one day complained to her of this 
treatment. She behaves somewhat better and Ned was 
at her feet again. She begs him to take her to the 
Miennerchor, upon wdiich she has set her heart; but he 
refuses, so she flirts still more with Langham. At the 
same time Jack has advanced in Edythe’s favor. He 
had been at college with a man, who had treated him 
dishonorably. This fellow had afterwards behaved in 
such a way, as to lose the respect of all who had for- 
merly been his friends. His mother was a widow. On 
account of some family complications, a suit was brought 
against her, which, if successful, would leave them almost 
penniless. No lawyer of any ability could be found, 
willing to take their case; for the chance of success was 
very remote, and of a fee still more so. At this point, 
Jack came forward and offered his services, proposing 
to serve without pay. His offer was accepted. He con- 
ducted the case with remarkable ability, and at last won 
it, after an appeal, that brought tears to the eyes of 
many of his hearers. Edythe was present, among a 
number of fashionable people, and knowing all the cir- 


THAT Q LIS TUNS. 


61 


cu instances of the case, could fully appreciate his noble 
behavior. She was proud of him, and that was the road 
to her heart. Generosity and uprightness touched her 
more than aught else. Besides, Victor was not as un- 
flagging in his attentions as he had been. A failure to 
get invitations to some of the places she went, frequent 
absences from the city, and Ada Merton’s plotting, kept 
him away. So Jack’s star was in the ascendant. He 
was urging his suit strongly. He goes to-night to a ball 
wdth the expectation of seeing her there ; unfortunately, 
when he arrives, he finds she is not well and cannot come. 

The ball is given by Mrs. Welborn, one of the social 
leaders of the strict Philadelphia set. She can trace her 
line back two hundred years, so sets herself up as a 
judge of the social positions of the people around her. 
As is usual with this set, she does not know a sufiicient 
number of young men, whom she considers fit to associate 
with her daughter. The result is easily imagined. The 
ball, though given in one of the handsomest halls in 
town, and perfect in all its appointments, is a failure for 
lack of men. Betw^een six and seven hundred people 
are present, but only twenty or twenty-five extra men; 
so a man must remain with the same girl practically 
the whole evening. Jack knowing this, looks about for 
some girl, with whom he can do so. Seeing Cissie he 
goes up to her. “Good evening. Miss Clayton, will 
you take pity on me, and allow me to stay with you all 
evening?” 

“Of course, I shall be only too glad to have you; 
but I am afraid you will soon be tired of me.” 

“ Tired of you ! How could I ? ” 


62 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


*‘You may; so you must promise to take me to my 
chaperone the minute you are.’^ Jack protests that he 
can’t, so they dance, walk, talk, drink lemonade, and 
then do the same things over again, changing the order 
for variety. 

“Isn’t that the March from Prince Methuselah or 
lem, whichever it is?” she asks as the march for sup- 
per is played. 

“ I believe it is.” 

“I always get those two mixed up. Let’s see ; Methu- 
selem is the Opera, isn’t it?” Jack smiles. “Oh no, I 
mean it’s the other way, Methuselah is the Opera, and 
lem is the man.” Jack roars. “What is the matter?” 

“You had it right at first; but when I smiled you 
changed it,” and he laughs on. 

“That was down right mean; wasn’t it Bill?” as 
Faley comes up. 

“What?” She explains. “Bully for Jack! I like 
to see anyone take a rise out of you. But isn’t this fear- 
ful;” changing the subject with suspicious haste, “it 
is a regular sticking-place. I shall have to screw my 
courage up to it, as Shakespeare advises. Did you see 
my luck? Of course, I had to go and get stuck with 
the ugliest girl in the room; the thing with a purple 
body and pea-green skirt, that looks as if she came from 
the ark. I left her to get her some supper. A fine time 
I had in getting away too ; she held on to my coat-tails 
to make me stay.” 

“Not really, Billy, you’re joking? ” from Cissie. 

“She didn’t actually take hold of them; but she 
might as well have. She assured me she didn’t want 


THAT GLISTENS. 


63 


anything to eat, and almost went on her knees to keep 
me. I suppose she thought she wouldn’t find another 
fellow fool enough to come near her. I swore it wasn’t 
any trouble to get her supper, and that I knew she was 
dying for some ; so off I skipped. If she comes here 
you must hide me ; it would be cruelty not to.” 

“ Yes, cruelty to children. If she tries it, we will arrest 
her for attempted child-stealing. I must get Miss Clay- 
ton some supper, will you stay with her ? though I’m 
afraid to trust you ; you might run away as you did 
from your other charmer.” 

“‘Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.’ 
But Cissie, if I were you, I’d knock him down. Com- 
paring you to a caprice in purple and pea-green. P. P. 
G. I made it a P. P. C. with her.” Jack goes off for 
her supper. Soon afterwards he leaves. 

Ned and Langham meet upon the Tremont’s steps. 
Though each is disappointed at seeing the other, they 
are of course perfectly polite. As they enter the room, 
Gertie is arranging some pink roses that the English- 
man has sent her. She greets Ned rather coolly, the 
other with, what seems to Ned, uncalled for cordiality. 
He little thinks it is all put on for his benefit. 

“I feel relieved. I feared that my roses might be 
crushed.” 

“ They are not ; but the sender is, you know.” At 
which brilliant joke she laughs. “ You see,” Langham 
continues, “ I am learning to speak American already.” 
Gertie continues to laugh at his jokes and to talk in a 
flattering way to the Englishman, almost to the exclu- 


64 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


sion of Ned. At last she says to him, “ I want you to 
do me a great favor. Will you ? ” 

“ I would do anythiug you asked me, you know.” • 

“ Well then, will you take me to the Maennerchor 
ball?” 

Delighted, I’m sure. But what, when and— ah— 
where is it ? ” 

“ It is a masked ball at the Academy to-morrow night. 
It is the only way we celebrate Mardi Gras.” 

“And it’s no place for you to go,” breaks in Ned. 
“Dolly, for my sake, won’t you please give up this 
ball?” 

“ I don’t see why I should do anything for your sake ; 
you have no claim on me.” 

“Perhaps not, but when I see you about to do 
something you ought not, I take the privilege of a friend 
to warn you.” 

“ You are presuming too much. You are no longer 
a friend of mine ; my friends know how to keep their 
promises and tell the truth.” 

“ You imply that I do not? ” 

“Yes. You have deceived me and I can no longer 
believe you.” 

“In that case I had better not stay in your company. 
Good evening, Langham,” and with a furious face he 
leaves the house. 

Just as he passes into the street he meets Jack, who, 
seeing that something is wrong, gives up his intended 
visit to join him. Ned confides all to him, blaming 
Gertie, and saying he is sure she is in love with Lang- 
ham. Jack says, “ She is nothing of the kind, old man, 
if she loves any one, it is you.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


65 


A pretty way she takes to show it.” 

“ That is your own fault.” 

“My own fault? You are an able logician, Jack; 
but it will take all your powers and more too, to convince 
me of that.” 

“ Just listen for a moment and I shall try. You are 
too far gone to know how to treat her. You are her 
abject slave. Should she strike you, you would kiss the 
hand that dealt the blow. She knows this, and delights 
in teasing you. Such complete submission makes even 
the kindest women cruel. You have put up with her 
caprices for so long ; she is so accustomed to tyrannize 
over you, that she is completely spoilt. She cannot bear 
that you should contradict her slightest whim. She is 
trying to pay you up for your refusal to take her to the 
Msennerchor. I don’t think she had any intention of 
going in the first place ; but your opposition irritated 
her. Follow my advice and she will come around. 
Where women are concerned, coldness should be met 
with coldness. Don’t go back there to-morrow to ask 
forgiveness, as you would usually do. Keep away from 
her for a few days. When you do see her, don’t be too 
kind, and if she don’t give in, I am very much mis- 
taken.” 

“ But Jack that will be frightfully hard on me. Be- 
sides I don’t think it would do any good.” 

“ Oh, yes it will. The remedy is severe; but will be 
effectual. Come, I generally give you good advice ; fol- 
low it this time. You are blind as love makes one, and 
I am not.” 

“ I’ll think it over.” 

5 


66 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“You will take me then?” Gertie says, turning to 
Langham. 

“ Of course I will. Wliat — ah — time shall we go ? ” 

“ You can call at Cousin Clara’s, Mrs. Brown s, at 
about half-past eleven. I shall w'ear a wig, domino and 
mask. You won’t require any of them. The men gen- 
erally go without a mask.” 

Later in the evening she makes him promise not to 
mention their going to any one, in fact, if necessary, to 
deny it. This he does readily, and she knows he is a 
man of his word. 

Thinking over the evening after he has gone, she 
does not feel altogethersatisfied with her conduct. When 
she had first asked Langham to take her to the ball, it 
had been merely to tease Ned. Carried away by ex- 
citement, she had arranged to go ; but now thinking it 
over coolly, she knew she had done wrong. Besides she 
was sorry that she had treated Ned so badly. But then 
what right had he to interfere with her actions? He 
would come back to-morrow as usual to ask for pardon, 
and then — and then, if he expressed proper contrition, 
she would give up the ball. 

The next day passes and Ned don’t appear. She 
waits anxiously all afternoon for him, telling the servant 
she is not at home except to him. Supposing of course 
some business had prevented his coming in the afternoon, 
she expects him in the evening. Eight o’clock, half- 
past strikes, he is not there ; she begins to be provoked 
at his being so late. Nine and half-past, still he don’t 
come. She becomes alarmed, fearing he won’t come at 
all. Then she is angry at him, saying to herself he is 


THAT GLISTENS. 


67 


rude and unkind. At last she makes up her mind to go 
to the ball, if he is going to behave so outrageously. So 
off she goes to her cousin’s, saying she will spend the 
night there ; knowing that Mrs. Brown will do what- 
ever she wishes. So at half-past eleven, they start. En- 
tering the room she tells Langham to be where she can 
find him, if she needs him, and sets out to seek adventure. 
Arthur Scorville first meets her eye, looking about with 
his usual conceited smile. She goes up to him, and in a 
feigned voice, which she can easily assume, asks him, 
“You are thinking of that long line of ancestors of 
yours, aren’t you? Though from the gloominess of your 
looks, you must be thinking of the shoemaker, the first 
of them, or some of your black sheep.” Scorville says 
nothing, so she rattles on. “We will leave such disa- 
greeable subjects ; as I am a good fairy, I will give you 
the very best gift I can, some good advice. You have 
some ability ; but in order to use it, you must know how 
little it is. You musn’t think yourself the brightest, 
best-looking and best-born fellow in the world. Then 
to make yourself agreeable, you must learn to dance 
better. I see you don’t relish my good advice, and as I 
don’t care to afflict the floor, I won’t dance with you.” 
Away she trips, leaving Scorville speechless with wrath 
and indignation. She then flits about the room amusing 
herself with any number of men, whom she knows, and 
whom she don’t know. She tells a fat old Dutchman, 
w’hom she hates, she had just seen a young man kissing 
his wife. 

“Mein frow! Mein Got! vere vas dey? Mein frow 
here ? Mein Got unt himmel 1 ” 


68 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


Come this way and I will show you.” Off she goes, 
hurrying as fast as she can. She takes him up three 
flights of stairs, till he is panting so she takes pity on 
him, and running away leaves him completely used up ; 
ejaculating, when his breath will allow him, “ Mein Got 
unt himmel — mein frow — here.” When she comes down 
again, she meets Bill Paley, who is all smiles. 

“Why so pensive, foolish knight; thinking perchance 
of Cissie, how unkind she was at your last meeting or 
how you will pay Hughes and Muller their next bill or 
of that Braley affair?” 

“ Who the mischief are you ?” exclaims Bill, rather 
startled. 

“Some one who knows you by report alone.” Bill, 
who is not as straight as he might be, says, 

“Dearest maiden dance with me? 

Wilt thou refuse me? Can’st thou not choose me?’’ etc. 

I forget the rest ; but come, you must w^altz with me.” 

Fortunately the floor at that moment is comparatively 
clear. Gertie, who dances remarkably well, succeeds in 
keeping him straight, and preventing many bumps. 
When they stop. Bill remarks: “ That is by far the best 
dance I have had this evening. ‘ There was a star danced, 
and under that was I born.’ Beauteous maiden, thou, 
who burst upon my enraptured view like the sun from 
behind a crowd (becoming rather mixed) a crowd — a 
crowd of what ? — oh, well a crowd of devils, if you wish ; 
what are you ?” 

“I am a fortune-teller. Shall I tell yours?” 

“By the great horn-spoon, you shall. Here is my 
hand.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


69 


I need not that, I can read it in your face. First, to 
obtain more credit, I shall tell you something that has 
already happened. You know an English nobleman. 
You have made him angry; by a joke, a practical joke. 
Let me see, you pretended to be an Indian.” 

“ I must find out who the devil you are. I shall take 
your mask ofi*.” He tries to do so, but Gertie runs away ; 
he follows. Right by one of the boxes, she disappears from 
his sight. Looking up he thinks he sees her in the box. 
To his drunken mind, she seems to have jumped into it. 
Resolved not to be outdone by a girl, he tries to dive 
into the box. A scramble, then a tearing is heard, his 
trowsers have caught on a spike; we shall spare the 
details. 

Gertie ran into one of the corridors to escape Billy, 
as she is hurrying through it, a young fop catches her 
arm, and whispers: “Give me a kiss, you beauty, just 
one ?” She rushes away from him, only in turning a 
corner to fall into the arms of a drunken man, who is 
leaning against the wall. He immediately throws his 
arms around her, exclaiming : “ What a splendid ball !” 
She struggles fiercely and succeeds in getting away from 
him, at the same time giving him a push that lands him 
on the floor. Disgusted with herself, the ball, and every- 
thing else, she hurriedly finds Langham and makes him 
take her to her cousin’s. On the way she says nothing 
except good-bye, and her thanks, at parting, for his 
care of her. 

Victor and Edythe are returning from a dinner at 
Ada Merton’s. She comes home with him, as Ned was 


70 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


not invited. Arriving they find Jack awaiting them; 
he tells them that Ned has been called away on business, 
and that Mrs. Saxon had been suffering from a head- 
ache, but was now asleep. The Doctor said that on no 
account should she be disturbed; he only waited to tell 
Edythe this. As he leaves, a pin on the threshold at- 
tracts his attention. Perhaps it was because of a desire 
to linger for a moment longer in her presence ; at any 
rate he stops to pick it up. While he is stooping he 
hears something about going to the Msennerchor ; with- 
out more thought of it he makes his way home. 

When Gertie reaches her room, she throws herself on 
the bed and bursts into a flood of tears. Her evening has 
been a perfect failure ; she had gone to spite Ned, and 
she thought of him all the time she was at the ball. It 
had not come up to her expectations; she had not en- 
joyed teasing Bill as she anticipated. Then those two 
fearful men, how disgustingly they behaved ; but then 
if she had not gone, they could not have done so ; it 
served her right for being at such a place. How could 
they know she was a lady? Ned was right; but if he had 
only come that day, she wouldn’t have gone. She had 
insulted him dreadfully, he might not forgive her, and 
then — She cried herself to sleep, that night, poor child. 

At the same time, in another part of the town, Edythe 
is leaning out of her window gazing at the moon-lit gar- 
den. Her hair is down, giving, as it were, a dark brown 
framing to her perfect face. Her refined classical fea- 
tures stand out clearly and coldly in the pale light. A 
critic might have said, too coldly, were it not for the 


THAT GLISTENS. 


71 


happy smile that softened and lit up her firm, well- 
formed mouth, and the soft, dreamy light that shone in 
her eyes, whose color none could tell. Changeable at 
all times, to-night they were a deep, rich brown, shaded 
by a wealth of curling lashes. Would that I had a 
poet’s pen, or an artist’s brush, to paint Edythe as she 
rests there to-night clad in white, the emblem of purity, 
a sight once seen, never to be forgotten. She is dreaming 
of Jack — her gentle, noble, manly Jack, in his sense of 
honor, his chivalry, his power — a man indeed. Her 
dream of him is as one of the knights of old, his every 
thought and action was as the noblest of them all. She 
thought of the old legend, of a maiden cruelly impris- 
oned in a dark dungeon; of the knight who bravely 
fights and slays the tyrant who thus imprisoned her. She 
thinks how much the maiden owes to her champion; 
what ought she not gladly to do for him, who has per- 
illed his life for her liberty and honor. She thinks how 
little she can do for him, even if, as the legend runs, she 
gives her whole heart and life to him. Need it be said 
that in the maid she sees herself, and in Jack she sees 
her knight “ without fear and without reproach.” 


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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER YIII. 

Lent has come. The time when society’s followers 
take their much needed rest, and try to restore the 
beauty(?) in which late hours and violent exercise, taken 
at the worst time of the whole day, have made such rav- 
ages. They no longer stay up all night to talk nonsense ; 
but to make up for this, they take their dissipation in 
the form of church-going. Society takes a religious 
turn. It may be seen every afternoon at church, all of 
it goes to the same church in the afternoon, the same 
church every afternoon. It is curious how far superior 
this church becomes (in the afternoon) to every other. 
It is crowded ; the rest are empty. Of course there is 
nothing but the superiority of the clergymen and ser- 
vices, which crowds the church. Then how reverent is 
the behavior. There is no row of foolish boys in the 
gallery, smiling and smirking at the girls in the other 
gallery, or in the lower part ; nor does this row hurry 
out before the services are quite done, so that each may 
find his own particular star. No. People do not go 
now because it is the fashion ; but because a religious re- 
vival returns year after year with the regularity of a 
clock. Two of our friends are unaffected by this revival. 
Edythe and Jack. She charitable at all times becomes 
no more so in Lent. She does not think it necessary for 
the safety of her soul to go to church every day, nor to 
go to the fashionable church, when she does go ; so she 


THAT GLISTENS. 


73 


does neither. Lent is her time for rest and the improve- 
ment of her mind. She reads constantly, and has an in- 
terested and able adviser in Jack. He is well read, and 
their discussions on various works are both profitable and 
entertaining. One afternoon, just after the Mtennerchor, 
we find them deep in conversation. Jack has been with 
her all afternoon. Beginning by a discussion of what 
they both had been reading, their conversation had grad- 
ually become of a more confidential character; their 
voices are lowered ; the room darkens, soon it is lit by 
naught save the flickering light of the wood fire blazing 
on the hearth. A feeling of restful happiness steals over 
Edythe as she listens to Jack. The darkened room, the 
ruddy, weaving firelight add but a charm to his words. 
If speech alone could win a heart, his words that even- 
ing must have done so. In a low, mellow voice, he 
spoke of many things, breathing such nobility, such up- 
rightness of purpose and thought, such clear, thorough 
understanding of every subject, that her whole heart 
went out to him. Now Jack! Now is the time to 
speak ; she at last will hearken to your suit. Perhaps he 
feels it. At all events he leans over, even closer to her, 
and speaks still more softly. They are talking of Vic- 
tor, when Jack says in a very low tone: “Darling, I 
thought you were forgetting your old friend in your lik- 
ing for the new.’^ The front door bell rings ; but they 
hear it not. 

“ Forget you, Jack, my oldest and best friend ?” she 
whispers, slipping her hand in his, “ I never could. I 
look upon you as’’ — she brings the word out slowly and 
with difiaculty — “ a brother.” 


74 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


Jack presses her hand in his, as he eagerly says : “ It 
is not as a brother that I would wish you — ” 

“ What are you doing here, in the dark ?” breaks in 
Gertie. “ I have come to dinner, as I said. But do 
ring for the lights. You know I hate the dark so.” 

If Jack could dislike Gertie, he did at this moment. 

When Ned comes in later, Gertie goes toward him 
with outstretched hand and welcomes him w^armly, with ; 
“ How do you do, Ned, I am so glad to see you ; I haven’t 
seen you for so long.” To her surprise, for she thought 
to resume her sway over him as soon as she saw him 
again, none of her warmth is reflected in his cold greet- 
ing. As they sit down to dinner. Jack asks her whether 
she is going to travel this summer or not. 

“No. I believe pappa and mamma think they have 
had enough of travelling for a little while, so we’re going 
to Bryn Mawr, excepting a little trip in August. I am 
so glad. We shall be near you all.” This last remark 
is addressed to all of them, but she looks at Ned as she 
makes it. 

“ Then they have overcome their dislike to the gossip- 
ing place, as they used to call it,” Edythe remarked. 

“ They think they are too old to be affected by it, and 
that they can trust me not to do anything to be talked 
about.” 

“How little they know you,” Jack puts in, softly. 

“ They know me better than some people I know.” 
Another glance at Ned. 

“ I don’t think Bryn Mawr is half as bad as it’s 
painted,” says Edythe. “ The young people don’t gos- 
sip at all. It is only the old ladies like Mrs. Hooker 
and Mrs. Johnson, that do.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


75 


“ I have never heard them say anything bad about 
any one.’’ 

They know you wouldn’t believe it, Mrs. Saxon.” 

Edythe and Jack are in the brightest of humors ; they 
seem overflowing with wit. Gertie is gay by fits and 
starts, while seeming to wish to ask Ned’s pardon by in- 
direct hints. He on the contrary is very silent, pretend- 
ing not to see these hints. Jack, at the end of the din- 
ner, his heart softened toward the fair sex, whispers to 
him, that he is carrying matters too far. Mrs. Saxon, 
kind and considerate as usual, enters into the gay spirit 
of the moment. As they move into the drawing-room, 
she says to Jack : 

“You havn’t told me what you are going to give up 
this Lent?” 

“That is so. I am going to stop taking prejudices 
against people I know nothing about, and with your 
help I hope to be successful. Have the others told you 
what they have given up ? ” 

“All but Gertie.” 

“ Come then Gertie, tell us what it is.” 

“Oh, I shall stop flirting.” The answer is to Mrs. 
Saxon, but it is evidently said for Ned’s benefit. 

“ Why I thought that was absolutely necessary for your 
comfort.” Edythe exclaims. Gertie reddens a little 
and Ned looks still gloomier. Jack to change the sub- 
ject asks: “Have any of you seen Bill Paley lately?” 

“No, why?” 

“ He has sworn oflT quoting.” 

“What?” They all exclaim in one breath. 

“ I thought that was necessary for his comfort.” 


76 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“He has repaid himself by beginning to write quota- 
tions of his own in the form of poetry.” 

“Have you seen any of it?” 

“Yes, Cissie told me about it. I suspect she has 
something to do with the change. At any rate she has 
his first attempt and I got this copy from her.” He 
draws a piece of paper from his pocket. They all ask 
him to read it. When Gertie hears the title she first 
pales and then blushes; but in the interest of Bill’s pro- 
duction this is overlooked. 

AT THE M^NNEKCHOR. 

There are costumes of every land, 

Whose manners we’ve heard of at all 

^Tis truly a curious band, 

That graces our Msennerchor Ball. 

But she is nowhere to be seen. 

My Nannie so stately and fair. 

Her costume is justly a queen — 

Yet stay — Who is that over there? 

There’s a form and a dress I should know, 

And I get a glance at her cheek, 

(Whose softness to many brings woe) 

’Tis her air and her carriage so chic. 

She thinks herself to “concale,” 

By using a touch of the brogue, 

As she used it last night in the tale. 

That is now above all the vogue. 

She allows me to lead her aside, 

As if to obtain some rest. 

When there she rests by my side. 

And her head falls back on my breast. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


77 


As she lies in my arms I thrill 
\V ith a wild delirious joy. 

Be still, my heart, be still ! 

Before she was always so coy. 

As I whisper accents of love. 

She won’t believe them, the rogue. 

But why, my dear little dove 
Do you still use that touch of the brogue? 

Does that shaking betoken a laugh ? 

I do not dare to ask. 

Has all her talk been chaff 
To see I’ll take off her mask. 

I draw the mask from her face, 

My head is all in a whirl. 

For there, in my Nannie’s place, 

I see her new servant girl. 

As Jack finishes. Bill comes in himself, with Victor 
Koland. He exclaims, “So you have been boring them 
with my doggerel ?” 

“It didn’t bore us at all. Was it an adventure of 
your own?” 

“ Oh, no. It was an invention. I had a good many, 
though at this Msennerchor.” 

“AVe have heard of your trying to follow one girl 
into a box. Tell us another.” 

“AVell, after I was repaired, so as to be able to appear 
on the floor, I returned. The first girl I met, like the 
other, knew all about me. My friends must have turned 
out in full force to see my gambols. By the way Roland, 
I understand she came with you. Who was she?” 
Roland looks daggers at Bill and don’t answer. “ AVasn’t 


78 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


it queer. She was so much like you, Edythe, that I ■ 
would have sworn it was you, if she hadn’t been so '1 
lively.” For some reason Edythe blushes slightly, 'i 
“By George I I don’t believe there was a livelier piece 
on the floor. We had a high old time. She gave me . 
a pin and made me promise to do something with it. 
But I’ll be switched, if I can remember what. Ah! ^ 
here it is,” producing a peculiar clover-leaf pin. Gertie : 
exclaims : 

“ Why Edythe that is the one you said you had lost.” | 
Edythe colors furiously, Victor looks uncomfortable, j 
Bill exclaims to himself, “Whew! what a fool I was!” ' 
while Jack looks in perplexity at Edythe and Roland. 
Mrs. Saxon after seeing that it bears the former’s initials ^ 
asks, “ Edythe how could this have gotten there?” She 
answers in a hesitating voice, “ I don’t know.” It is in- 
credible that she should have gone to such a place as the 
Msennerchor ; she so pure in all her thoughts and words, 
who had never done a single deed that any could object 
to, never made a single slip, even as a very young girl, 
at an age, when few escape committing some trifling in- 
discretion. That she should have gone to a place that 
even the fastest girls rarely visit, and that too on an 
evening when her mother was ill, seemed impossible; 
yet every appearance was against her. Conviction was 
slowly stealing over them, when Jack breaks in loud 
and clear, “I can tell you. I picked it up as I was 
leaving your house, took it to the ball and gave it to 
that girl, because I could not stay on, as I promised 
her.” 

Roland, Gertie, Bill and Mrs. Saxon are much re- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


^9 


lieved. Edythe looks at Jack with an expression of 
sadness. She feels it must be true, for he is truthful, he 
had explained at the same time, why no one else had 
seen him there, and she had seen him stoop to pick it up. 
Yet how unlike him to carry off anything of hers and 
give it to some one else. Could she have been deceived 
in him ? Could she have been about to commit a fright- 
ful error. Carried away by her abhorrence of anything 
mean or false, and rendered more bitter by finding him 
but clay, whom she had looked upon as in his treatment 
of women, almost perfection, however lacking in accom- 
plishments, she forgot all that he had done for her and 
would scarcely look at, or speak to him. His position 
was anything but comfortable; and he was just about 
to leave, when a telegram arrived telling him, he must 
go South at once on railroad business. So off he went 
without his answer from Edythe. 

Victor Roland, at all times fascinating, to-night 
seems to be making up for lost time. His voice is simply 
wonderful, in its sweetness. While in his eyes there is 
the look of a man, who is playing a bold, but winning 
game. Can any one, who has seen that expression, 
doubt that they were rendered far more charming. In 
everything he is at his best, and all thought of Jack is 
driven far away. Victor sees how successful he is and 
it is an incentive to still greater exertions to please. 
But wise in his own generation, he leaves after singing 
in his most effective manner Burns lovely song to Mary, 
beginning “Powers Celestial! Whose protection ever 
guards the virtuous Fair.” When Edythe goes to her 
room, she lies awake for a long, long time in a waking 


80 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


dream, a fairyland of light and happiness, the effect of 
the beauty and pathos of that last song. And when she 
does sleep, it is to dream of Victor. 

Jack was wrong in saying what he did to Ned ; for 
the latter is in a bad humor, and decides to act in just 
the opposite way, to prove his independence of him. 
Left alone with Gertie, soon after J ack’s departure, he 
is abominably rude. When she even goes so far as to 
beg his pardon, he says he don’t want any of it in so 
brusque a manner, as to bring tears to her eyes. This 
is probably the most fortunate thing that could have 
happened, for if there is anything Ned cannot stand it 
is women’s tears. Gertie’s have an instantaneous effect 
upon him. All his anger vanishes before them and 
turning at once, he exclaims, “What a brute I am! 
Come Dolly, let’s be friends again. As for begging 
pardon, that is my place and I only hope I haven’t 
sinned beyond forgiveness.” 

Gertie looks up at him, casting a ray of sunlight 
through the shower, and softly says: “No, I deserved 
all you said ; though I didn’t think you would be so un- 
kind. You were right about the Msennerchor; it was no 
place for me to go. Yet if you had come to see me the 
next day as usual, I would not have gone. As you 
stayed away, I became provoked and went.” 

“Don’t let’s talk any more about the wretched thing, 
I am sick of it.” 

“ Then we won’t ; but I must tell you a piece of news. 
Lord Langham has left town and I havn’t seen him 
since that evening.” Though this dispute was ended, it 
was as an entering wedge for others. The outward 


THAT GLISTENS, 


81 


wound was healed, the internal injury was there. Gertie 
felt herself proved in the wrong, as no girl likes to be; 
while Ned’s confidence in her was sadly shaken. 

A day or two later an intimate friend of Victor’s, 
Raymond Van Etten comes over from New York to 
spend a few days with him. With Edythe’s permission 
he is to be introduced to her that evening. Victor says 
to himself as he watches his friend making his toilet, “ It 
is about time for me to play my trump card then aloud, 
“ Ray, I have been a good friend to you, will you do 
something for me now?” 

“Of course, I will, my boy. What is it?” 

“Only in the course of your conversation with Miss 
Saxon to make an opportunity to tell her of my adven- 
ture in that forest fire down South. She was down there 
and saw me, though she don’t know it was I. I am 
under promise not to tell her; but you will do me a 
favor, if you will.” 

“I shall do it with pleasure,” with a knowing smile. 


6 


82 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER IX. 

Ada Merton is lying on a lounge in her boudoir. An 
open book is in her hand. Reading, however, is far 
from her purpose. She has just heard of the adventures 
of Edythe’s pin, and on these her attention is concen- 
trated. Her thoughts run something like this. “ Why 
did that fool Jack Harden put in his oar ? If it hadn’t 
been for him, all would have gone well and I should 
have been successful. There would have been a cool- 
ness between Edythe and Victor; for she must have 
suspected him. Then her reputation, the prude, would 
have received a severe blow. How I wish I had known 
this sooner ! Howevef let me see what I can do now. 
Edythe and Jack each think the other at fault, and so 
there is a falling out. Though I hate him, I shall have 
to help him for the present. Wait till I get a chance 
at him. I’ll make him smart for this and a good many 
other things. But I must bring those two together 
again now. I suppose the only way is to disclose, who 
did it. Yes, that will be best; for she will then admire 
him and be grateful to him, for taking the blame, and 
disappointed in Victor’s not coming forward. Then I 
must have Jack back here for a few days. The Presi- 
dent of the R. R. dines here to-night with Victor. 

Can’t I make use of that ?” She puzzles over it a little 
while and then asks Gertie to dinner. Going to the 
Saxon’s she tells Mrs. Saxon and Edythe she has dis- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


83 


covered that a servant of hers, whose figure they re- 
member is much like Edythe’s, found the pin after 
Edythe left that evening and took it to the Msennerchor. 
Though what is not told is that this was done by her 
orders, and that giving it to Bill Paley was in conform- 
ance to her wishes too. 

Jack w^as sure that Edythe had been at the Msenner- 
chor. Unlikely as it was, yet he saw that both Mrs. 
Saxon and Ned thought so, till he took it on himself, 
and besides what they knew, he had heard her say some- 
thing about going there. It must be confessed that he 
felt pretty blue. She had in no way shown him, that she 
recognized the service he had done her, while he felt 
that as long as things remained as they were Mrs. Saxon 
and Ned would at least feel very much disappointed in 
him. It was in this frame of mind that his mail sur- 
prises him. It contains four letters all in familiar hand- 
writings. Edythe’s, Ned’s and Mrs. Saxon’s all express 
their admiration and gratitude for what he did. The 
fourth runs as follows : 


Philadelphia, March 23d. 

Bear Jack: — 

You will be surprised to see my handwriting. I 
shan’t say more about that clover-leaf pin than that you 
are a perfect love. I would, but I know all the others 
have written you about it, so I won’t bore you with it. 
I have another aflTair to tell you about, even more im- 
portant than that. I overheard a conversation at Ada 
Merton’s, that wasn’t intended for me ; but which was 
so entertaining I must write you about it. From what 


84 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


I heard I am sure that Victor Eoland is at the bottom 
of your having to go South. He is bound to win Edythe 
and you are his most dangerous rival, so he used his in- 
fluence in the K. R. to have you sent away. The 

others would laugh at me, were I to say anything to 
them about this. You I know will believe what I say. 

I am absolutely certain of it. He has taken advantage 
of your absence and is ardently pressing his suit. Every- 
body seems fascinated by him, though I can’t see why. 
Even Ned is charmed with him. While Edythe — well 
unless you come back soon, I am afraid bad news will 
await you. Can’t' you get off for a few days, come ; 
back here, and bring Edythe to her senses ? If you were 
here in the flesh, she might prefer you. As Bill says : 

“ Absence makes the heart grow fonder — fonder of the 
other fellow.” But I mustn’t joke about so serious a 
matter. Do come back as soon as you can. 

Bill Paley and Cissie have had another fight, though 
that is scarcely news, as they’re at it all the time. I 
believe it has gone as far as not speaking to each other 
this time. I suppose inside of a week they will be just 
as thick as ever again. There I have written three times 
as much as I intended and you don’t deserve a word of 
it, since you never write to me. So no more from 
Your afiectionate friend 

Gertie Tremont. 

P.S. — Be sure to come as soon as you can. Let me 
know when you are coming and I shall try to arrange, 
so you can see Edythe alone. Surprise will probably 


THAT GLISTENS. 


85 


be very effective. Don’t take no for an answer and I’m 
sure she will give in 

G. C. T. 

As might be supposed, Jack soon arranged to return 
to Philadelphia for a few days. 

As a sort of practical joke Edythe has asked Cissie 
and Bill to lunch on the same day. Gertie, Ned and 
Victor make up the party of six. It is so arranged that 
neither knows the other is coming till they meet at the 
lunch table. Edythe does not introduce them and they 
are a fund of amusement to the rest as they sit in silence 
side by side. It is an informal affair, where they wait 
on themselves. So when Cissie wants something that is 
near Bill, she asks Edythe for it and it is passed all the 
way round the other way. Each one helps himself and 
nothing is left by the time it reaches her. Bill is treated 
in the same way and they are continually chaffed. Re- 
marks such as “ How nice it is to have them together, 
as their looks and suits match so well.” “Whether Bill 
sent her the flowers she wore.” “How pretty Bill’s 
scarf-pin was and who had given it to him.” (It was 
a present from her.) Then Edythe asked if she was 
going to the Ivy Ball this year. (Bill was to have been 
her escort.) Finally, Ned is talking about a cut he has 
received from a girl. Gertie turns to Bill and says, 
“Suppose I cut you, for I think you deserve it.” 

“That would be ‘the most unkindest cut of all.’” 

Cissie forgets herself and exclaims, “Why Bill ! You 
are forgetting — Potatoes please, Mr. Roland.” But the 
shouts of laughter, and the teasing are too much for her 


86 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


and she takes refuge in flight to the conservatory. When 
she is gone they all turn on Bill, quizzing him so un- 
mercifully that he flies too and somehow manages also 
to take refuge in the conservatory. Finding Cissie there, 
he says, “Come Cissie, let’s kiss and make friends. We 
must pay them up for this, and I have a splendid plan 
to do so. I’ll say black’s white, if you want me to.” 
Cissie agrees to the latter part of his suggestion, though 
she declines the first. Wheh the others find them they 
are deep in a plot to pay them up, as he calls it. 

After many congratulations on their reconciliation 
the whole party draws together round the library fire. 
The storm renders the room so dark that were it not for 
this, lights would be necessary. Edythe asks Victor to 
recite the poem he has recently composed. With a few 
introductory remarks, telling them that it was written 
about an exploit of one of his ancestors in the Revolu- 
tion (It loses nothing by his telling) he begins. Outside 
the howling of the wind and the occasional banging of 
a shutter or door form a weird accompaniment to the 
rich, melodious tones of his voice. 

THE WITCH. 

To horse I Our leader cries. 

Each steed gives an answering neigh, 

As over the sea the fierce gale flies, 

As lightning flash rends the sullen skies. 

In one wild dash we’re away. 

We’re down upon the foe ; 

No time for questioning now. 

As reapers in Harvest the wheat fields mow 
We cut our way with blow upon blow, 

Till victory crowns our brow. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


87 


The guns are reached ! They’re ours ! 

Yet onward a few still fly, 

Their horses urged to their utmost powers, 

To gain where the flag in its pride still towers. 

To be first each gladly would die. 

But lo ! In front a ditch. 

That threatening yawns as in our way. 

The foremost their falling horses pitch, 

Except young Koland, who rides the Witch, 

Whom nothing it seems can stay. 

He was but yesterday 
The butt of every quip ; 

And now to follow his dashing way. 

The three or four, who are all that may. 

Must ply both spur and whip. 

They’ve reached at last the flag ! 

Hand to hand is the deadly fight. 

And one by one each falls from his nag. 

Or is forced on headlong over the crag, 

A hundred feet in height. 

Till Koland is alone. 

Opposed to all of the foes. 

He’s dowm 1 Comes from us as a fearful moan. 

But no ! From his horse their Ensign he’s thrown. 
Right through their line he goes. 

For life or death the race I 
He waves their flag in his hand. 

Every nerve is racked in that deadly chase. 

Hurrah ! for the Witch still sets the pace. 

Hurrah ! for he’s gained our band. 

This piece, read as only the author could read it, since 
it was Roland, and with all the accessories of light, sound 


88 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


and place, produced an effect on his hearers, that a much 
finer poem could not, when unattended by such favor- 
able surroundings. Ned, who had been hesitating in 
his friendship for Victor, because of Jack’s opinion, was 
completely carried away. Like many another man of 
ability, he had a great admiration for what he could not 
do. As even the merest doggerel was beyond his power, 
any one, who could even rhyme was sure of his admira- 
tion. From this time there was no doubt of his liking 
for Victor. 

That evening Jack, as Gertie promised, finds Edythe 
alone. Without the clouds that have been threatening 
all day, have burst and are pouring their floods upon 
the streets. Within, even while she thanks him again, 
for his conduct about the Msennerchor he finds her recep- 
tion of him remarkably cold and embarrassed. The glare 
of the gas makes it seem still colder and he cannot help 
contrasting it with the last few hours he had spent in 
that same room. Nothing daunted, in answer to her 
question, “What had brought him home so much sooner 
than he expected?” he says “I have come back to tell 
you what you must already know. I love you, Edythe. 
Will you be my wife?” He is standing before her, look- 
ing eagerly at her downcast face. As she hesitates he 
instinctively feels there is no hope. Drawing himself 
up he stands firm, bravely awaiting the hardest blow of 
his life. Contending emotions are struggling in Edythe’s 
breast. So long continued is the struggle, that to Jack 
awaiting the death-blow of all his hopes,dt seems almost 
a century, before she raises her eyes to his with a reso- 
lute look, though tears are streaming from them. “ Jack, 


THAT GLISTENS. 


89 


I am engaged to Victor.’’ The last ray of hope dies 
within him. It was as he feared. “ But don’t let this 
interfere with our friendship, Jack. I could not do 
without you.” And she extends her hand. Not notic- 
ing it he presses his hand to his forehead and, with a 
voice in which his resolute will well nigh suppresses the 
agony He feels, says, “ Give me time. I must realize it 
first. I must go away for a little while,” passing out 
into the night in a sort of dream. The rain and wind 
beat unperceived against his burning brow. On and on 
he walks little heeding where. 

When Jack is gone, Edythe stands for a moment in 
a daze; then goes slowly upstairs, where she flings her- 
self upon the bed. Her heart is crying out: Why had 
he not spoken before ? Why had she not known ? Her 
mother comes to her and wisely guessing what has hap- 
pened, soothes and pets her, as only a mother can, till 
she again becomes quiet. How unfortunate are those, 
who have never known a mother’s patient care, who 
always seems to know when to speak and when silence 
is best, that lightens every grief by timely sympathy. 
In sorrow, sickness or need a mother is our best and 
surest refuge. 

It is true. Victor has at last won his heart’s desire. 
Van Etten had successfully performed his task, and the 
knowledge of Victor’s identity had had fully as power- 
ful an efifect as Ada Merton bad feared. She worship- 
ped him now as a hero. Taking advantage of Jack’s 
absence and want of favor, he has wisely chosen his time 
and carried away by his fascinations he has won her con- 
sent. Mrs. Saxon, concealing her preference for Jack, 


90 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


had yielded. She knew nothing but good about him 
and she was glad to see her daughter settled in life. 
Ned had not as yet been told; but when he was he was 
perfectly content. Had he known of Jack’s disappoint- 
ment, he would not have been so ready. With a brother’s 
blindness, he thought Jack’s liking had never gone be- 
yond that. Gertie, alone of the family, was not pleased. 
Her allegiance to Jack was unshaken and it was only 
one more reason to dislike Victor, that he had been his 
successful rival. The news of the engagement was dis- 
agreeable to another of our characters, Ada Merton. 
It intensified her dislike for Edythe into the deadliest 
hate, which was hidden under a show of extreme cor- 
diality. 

Jack meantime had gone back to his work and his 
visit to the City was only known to Mrs. Saxon, Edythe 
and Gertie. Instead of like many another allowing his 
sorrow to overwhelm him or overwhelming it with drink, 
he overcame it by hard work. So successful and in- 
dustrious was he that on the retirement on account of 
illness of the senior lawyer at work in the matter, he was 
given entire charge of the business. The promptitude 
and ability with which he conducted it, led to a speedy 
decision in their favor. Thus one more feather was put 
ill his cap. Hard work in his case proved once more 
a cure for troubles of this kind and when at Easter he re- 
turned to Philadelphia, he was able to act as if nothing 
had happened. His conduct toward Victor was all that 
could be desired. He treated him as he would have 
treated any one, who was soon to be the husband of his 
most intimate girl friend. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


91 


CHAPTER X. 


As miglit be expected, Victor was anxious for an 
early marriage. To the surprise of the others, Mrs. 
Saxon was also, so that it was fixed for early in June. 
One afternoon just before Easter, Victor has come to 
see Edythe. He brings her two letters, the first of which 
runs, as follows : 


My Dear Victor : 

I have just received your letter telling me of your in- 
tended marriage. How happy I am, I am sure you 
must know. That she is worthy of you, your description 
and your excellent judgment leaves no doubt. My best 
wishes for the happiness, which you, my boy, so well 
deserve, are yours; **5it******5tt 

scarcely needful for 
me to remind you of your promise, since I know that as 
far as it lies in your power, you will do what you can to 
fulfil it. I have written a line or two to your lady-love 
asking her consent. I enclose them in this letter and 
hope you will take the first opportunity to deliver it to 
her. Before you do so tell her of our connection, why 
I am so anxious to perform the ceremony, and if you 
add your entreaty, she must consent, if she is worthy of 
my adopted son. Blessings be upon her and you. May 
your life be as happy as can be wished by 
Your lifelong friend 

George D. Dixon. 


92 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“Why Victor! what does he mean?” asks Edythe 
with a puzzled expression. 

“If you think you can listen to rather a long and un- 
interesting tale, I will tell you.” 

“A tale is never uninteresting when you tell it, so 
make it as long as you choose.” 

Victor begins. “About twelve or thirteen years ago, 
I went to spend my summer holidays with an Uncle, who 
lived near the Village of K. in Kentucky. My Uncle 
and Aunt were not particular about my whereabouts, so 
I had a free foot to roam, whither fancy led me. Soon 
after my arrival, in one of my walks, I was attracted by 
a pond, that lay hidden, deep in the woods. Huge pine 
trees grew close down to the water’s edge casting their 
shadows upon the dark water, yet the air circulated 
freely among them. The cooling winds brought with 
them the aromatic scent of the pines and of the lilies 
which luxuriantly covered the pond. Birds singing in 
wanton sport and squirrels chirping showed that this 
was a spot hallowed by the rarity of man’s presence. 
As I neared the water, enjoying the refreshing breeze 
and the delights of sound, smell and sight, I saw in the 
centre of this miniature lake a little girl of probably 10 
or 11 years of age. She was in a tiny row-boat and, 
when I first saw her, was leaning over trying to gather 
some of the lilies. From the way in which the boat 
rocked and the exertion she was making to pull the flow- 
ers from their stems, I was sure that an accident would 
happen. Afraid to shout, for fear of startling her and 
bringing about the upset, I hastily threw off my coat and 
shoes, to be ready for anything. As I anticipated, a few 


THAT GLISTENS, 


93 


more rolls, and the boat went over, emptying the girl 
into the pond. Just as it did so, I plunged into the 
water. The distance was short, so it took me but a few 
seconds to reach the place ; though each second seemed 
an hour. She had not come up again, when I reached 
the spot, and looking down, I saw her clutching with her 
little hands the stem of one of the lilies. I dove at once ; 
yet so strongly was she holding to it, that I had to break 
the stem to get her away. She had not lost conscious- 
ness, when I brought her to the surface, and never hav- 
ing had any experience with a drowning person, I was 
not as careful as I should have been. She clasped her 
arms around my neck so tightly, that I could not breathe. 
Fortunately I had sense enough to go right down 
quietly. When she found me sinking, she relaxed her 
hold. Coming up again, I was more careful, caught her 
by her right arm, not far from the shoulder and struck 
out with one hand. As I wasn’t much of a swimmer 
then, this was a considerable labor ; but I succeeded in 
bringing her safely to land.” 

My own brave Victor ! ” 

“Just as I did so, an old gentleman came hurrying 
down to the bank, accompanied by two maid-servants, 
one of them middle-aged, looking like a housekeeper. 
The gentleman, this Dr. Dixon, was so anxious about the 
child, that he had no time for me. In fact, he insisted 
on carrying her to the house, which was not far distant. 
The housekeeper, however, insisted on my accompany- 
ing them to the house. There, after I had been made 
comfortable with some dry clothing, belonging to the 
farmer’s boy, and a glass of wine. Dr. Dixon came in to 


94 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


thank me. There were tears in his eyes as he said, 
‘You have done me a service to-day, that nothing can 
ever repay. She is my all ; my only living kin. God 
bless you, my boy.’ He said little Bessie (for that was 
her name) was doing well now, and then he asked me 
about myself. I found he knew my Uncle and Aunt 
well. He had been the parson of the Episcopal Church 
in that neighborhood for many years. Bessie was his 
niece, the daughter of a younger sister, to whom he had 
been devoted. On her death-bed she left her in his 
charge and since that time, which was about the same 
as his retirement from the active duties of the church, 
Bessie had been his only care, his only joy. From this 
time on I was constantly at their place. Dr. Dixon 
opened his heart to me, as he did to none other, except 
Bessie. She w’as devoted to me, as I was to her. What 
a dear little thing she was ! ” with a sigh. “ Her cun- 
ning little ways won upon all who knew her. I re- 
member as distinctly as though it were yesterday, when, 
just before I left’ at Christmas, she came running to me, 
her hands behind her back, calling, ‘Vic! Vic! Open 
your mouth and shut your eyes, and I will give you 
something to make you wise.’ I did as I was bid and 
she put this in my hand.” He took out his watch, as he 
said this. “ Then she made me open the back of it.” 
Suiting the action to the word, he showed on the inner 
cover, the inscription: From George D. Dixon and 
Bessie Leighton, To their friend Victor Roland In lov- 
ing memory of his brave and noble action June 20th. 

• Oil the inside of the outer cover was a miniature 
of a young girl. Her eyes were a deep blue, very large 


THAT GLISTENS. 


95 


even for a child, frioged with long curling lashes. Her 
brows were exquisitely arched and pencilled. Her 
small, sharply defined nose, gave her that thorough-bred 
air, so essential to every beauty. Her mouth was small, 
with red, pouting lips. A mass of light brown hair, falling 
in confusion over her neck and shoulders, gave a touch 
of wildness to her otherwise too regular beauty. But 
the fairness of her soft, dimpled cheeks, and the dreamy, 
appealing expression of her large, saucer-shaped eyes 
seemed too ethereal. They could not but help give the 
impression that their owner would not long remain to 
delight mankind by her loveliness. Tears are in Victor’s 
eyes as he gazes upon this miniature and “Poor little Bess” 
escapes unconsciously from his lips. Edythe is deeply 
impressed by the pathetic beauty of this little child. 

“How you must have loved her Victor! But she 
looks so fragile.” 

“Alas she was so.” After a few moments of silent 
contemplation, he resumes, “ ‘You see Vic, I am right/ 
Bessie exclaimed. ‘This will make you wise; for a 
knowledge of time is necessary to a wise man, isn’t 
it? and the watch will give you that. While this’ 
pointing to her picture, ‘ will show that somebody loves 
you Vic, so much! oh ever so much!’ and she put her 
arms around my neck and kissed me.” Again Victor 
seems overcome by the flood of recollection. “I had 
been spending part of my holiday with them, and that 
was the last time I saw her in health. I came back at 
Easter to find her on her death-bed. An old colored 
servant of theirs had been ill and Bessie was wont to go 
to her with delicacies she had prepared herself. Coming 


9G 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


home one afternoon, a storm overtook her. And from 
the drenching she received, pneumonia resulted. She 
had been cured of that; but the struggle was too much 
for her tender constitution. She was dying from weak- 
ness. When I saw her, I was overwhelmed by the awful 
change in her appearance. She had wasted away to a 
mere shadow. The hand she put about my neck was all 
but transparent, and her lovely face was so thin and 
worn. The dreamy look in her eyes, that were now pre- 
ternaturally large, was ten-fold greater. She whispered 
to me, as I bent over her, ‘you have come to say good- 
bye dear Vic. I can go away now. Mother has been 
calling for me ; but I could not leave without a farewell 
from you.’ Her Uncle had watched over her all through 
her illness and was so pale and haggard, that I w^as 
not surprised, when the doctor told me, he must have 
sleep. A powerful narcotic had been prepared for him ; 
but he refused to take it and I was asked to use my in- 
fluence to induce him to do so. I tried. I told him he 
should not grieve over her early death ; but should con- 
sole himself with the thought, that thus she would never 
know the world’s wickedness and would ever be a pure 
and innocent child. It was all to no purpose he would 
not take it. At last I appealed to Bessie. When she 
learned what we wanted, she asked for the medicine and 
calling him to her side said, ‘ Uncle, you won’t refuse 
me almost my last request. Please take this.’ She 
herself, though so weak as scarcely to be able to sit 
upright, insisted upon giving it to him with her own 
hands. 

She lingered on a few days; till at last the doctor told 


THAT GLISTENS. 


97 


us gently that she could not outlive the day. It was a 
sweet balmy day in early spring. At her request the 
windows were opened and through them a glorious sun- 
set might be seen. Turning to us, she said in her soft, 
low voice. ‘ Uncle I must leave you now. I see Mother 
up there, beckoning to me. Can’t you see her too? You 
loved her so •well. Don’t you see the wide calm ocean 
extending ever and ever so far, I can’t quite see the end. 
Mother is standing on the beach, strewn with those 
lovely pink shells. A boat is waiting with sails of silk. 
Yes! I must go now. Uncle you often said that I should 
be Vic’s little wife. I can’t be so now can I? Don’t 
cry Uncle dear, I am going to Mother. You must come 
soon. You loved us both. Vic you can’t come yet. 
I’ll never be your little wife; but when you do find a 
wife, let Uncle marry you. It will make him so happy. 
Promise me that? I promised. ‘Good-bye Vic. Good- 
bye Uncle dearest.’ She was silent. Just before she 
finished a cloud passed before the sun. The room was 
dark and still. No sound was heard, save the gentle 
tinkling of the cow-bells and the occasional song of a 
bird, singing its lullaby. Then a ray from the setting 
sun rested for a moment on her face and she softly mur- 
mured ‘ I am coming Mother,’ and fell back with eyes 
closed in seeming slumber; but it was the sleep of 
death.” 

As he ceases, tears are streaming from his eyes, while 
Edythe too is sobbing. There is a long silence, broken 
at last by Victor. “Now you can see what and why is 
his request,” handing her the other note. It asks in 
respectful terms, that he may be allowed to perform the 
7 


98 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


ceremony of marriage. He says that he is unfortunately 
too infirm to go to Philadelphia; but that, if she will so 
far honor him, his house is completely at her disposal. 
He then apologizes for his audacity in asking so much 
and refers her to Victor for the explanation. “Well 
love, I suppose it is too far.’’ 

“Why Victor how can you think so? Of course I 
will go.” 

“But how will your Mother like it? ” 

“When she hears your story, she will think with me, 
that it would be extremely selfish in us not to go.” 

“What a darling you are ! No one else could have 
shown such true appreciation and generosity.” We will 
no longer intrude on the privacy of a lover’s tete-a-tete. 
Edythe was right. Mrs. Saxon made no objection. To 
the surprise of the fashionable world, it became known 
that the wedding was to take place in the small village 

of R in Kentucky. The bridal party, of which Miss 

Merton was one, were to be Dr. Dixon’s guests for a few 
days. Out of respect to the old superstition, Victor 
was to stay at his own place near by (formerly his 
Uncle’s). 


THAT GLISTENS, 


99 


CHAPTER XI. 

Our friends are again assembled in the Saxons’ draw- 
ing-room. To-night they are bound for the Ivy Ball, 
as the ball given by the Senior Class at the University 
of Pennsylvania is called. Jack, Ned, and Bill gradu- 
ated there in the same year, and make it a rule to go to 
all College balls. When the party set out, Edythe, 
Gertie, Ned and Victor are in one carriage, Mrs. Saxon, 
Cissie, Bill and Jack in another. First we will follow 
the fortunes of the latter. Cissie and Bill as usual are at 
it again. After one of his sallies he remains silent for a 
moment or two. Jack, in surprise, asks him what is the 
matter. Cissie exclaims, ‘‘ Let him alone. ‘ He is wind- 
ing up the watch of his wit ; and by and by it will strike.’ ’ ’ 

“ Wrong again. I was trying to recall a story.” 

“ To invent one rather.” 

“Have any of you heard Travers’ latest?” 

“Paley’s, probably. We haven’t heard it. Poor 
Travers! ‘A thousand scrapes of wit make him the 
father of their idle dreams.’ ” 

“There, Cissie! you are always getting things twisted. 
If you can’t learn to quote aptly and correctly, don’t 
quote at all. That wasn’t addressed to a person, so can’t 
apply here. Then you put in an a, changed thee to him, 
and last but worst made escape become scrapes.” 

“Well, you can change it back. I know if you could 


100 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


change all your scrapes into escapes you would be de- 
lighted.” 

“No doubt; but that is not what you did. There’s 
no use disputing with women or children. I’ll tell you 
this story of Travers. He went to collect his rent from 
an Irish family ” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t a Dutch one?” from Cissie, 
with an air of the deepest interest and concern. Bill 
draws himself up in the attitude of a preacher, and says, 
“ Sister, these interruptions are unseemly. Let us have 
no more of them. Secondly, my brethren, he found 
them at dinner ” 

“ How very interesting and peculiar,” from Cissie. 

“They were partaking of a bowl of what looked like 
soup, which stood in the middle of the table; but what 
surprised him was that tears stood in their eyes ” 

“From onions or whiskey?” 

“Ciss am I telling this or are you?” Bill asks, at last 
really provoked. 

“If you haven’t sense enough to know when I am 
talking and when you are, you had better keep quiet 
altogether. However, I am sure Mrs. Saxon and Jack 
are dying to hear this wonderful concoction of yours, so 
I will allow you to go on.” 

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” curtly. “Well, Tra- 
vers asked what was the matter, why they were crying. 

Yv^ith a wink at his wife, the Irishman (“Or 

Dutchman,” Cissie murmured) answers, ‘Sure an’ it 
was me paig, an’ a darlint he w^as begorry; but won’t 
yer honor set down an’ ate a bit.?’ Travers, to humor 
him, sits down and says he will take a little soup. Pat 


THAT GLISTENS. 


101 


looks at him for a moment, then saying * sure enough,’ 
helps him bountifully from the bowl. At the first 
spoonful, Travers chokes and mutters, ‘ wh-wh-wh-wh- 
at d-d-d-amn hot s-s-s-s-soup.” 

“Oh, Bill, I have caught you. It is the old mustard 
story shouldered on whiskey. Here’s the University! 
How lucky for you! You won’t have to own up, and 
you will have time to make up another point for it.” 
As they alight, the other carriage is nowhere to be seen, 
nor does it appear for some time. To know why, we 
shall return to the time of their departure. When they 
started, Victor was telling an entertaining story, so no 
attention was paid to where the driver was going. 
When Victor stopped, Ned looked out, and to his aston- 
ishment found that they were nowhere near the College, 
and were driving in a very different direction from the 
one they should have taken. He tried to attract the 
driver’s attention, but he seemed to be deaf, and could 
not be induced to stop, till they drew up in front of Gi- 
rard College. Ned then got out to scold the man, for 
taking them on such a wild-goose chase. He receives 
but one answer to all he says, that is, that he (the driver) 
had been told to drive them to the College, and he had 
driven there. There was nothing to do but to drive back 
to the University, which they reached rather later than 
tiiey had intended, as they had gone at least four miles 
further than necessary, and their driver could not be in- 
duced to hurry on the way back. 

Meanwhile Bill had explained to Mrs. Saxon and 
Jack, that he and Cissie had bribed the driver to take 
them to Girard College, doing this to pay them back for 
the teasing, which he and she had received at the lunch. 


102 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


And there nestles in the ivy, 

A tiny, wayward fay. 

Who forever o’er my bosom 
Will bear her queenly sway. 

What a place for a ball is the University, with its long 
halls to relieve the dancing floor ! The numberless rooms 
with their dark nooks, what stories they could tell of 
those, who tired by the dancing and the promenade, have 
sought refreshment there. How many heart-burnings 
have ye caused, far more difficult to get over than any 
that come from the purposes for which you were intended. 
Ah me! Your boys disdain you now, and seek other 
halls to display their social qualities. It must be sup- 
posed they enjoy it. But give us an old-fashioned col- 
lege ball, with all the memories it brings, with all the 
mirth and gayety the place supplies. The thought of 
dancing and flirting, where at other times we must 
wrestle with the hated logarithms, or sit still, while one 
Professor turns us inside out (metaphorically) to find 
what we do not know, or another wearies us to death 
with his endless gabble. Well, *‘cliacun a son goiXt” 
They prefer it, so let it pass. 

At the University Cissie, Bill and Jack are walking 
in one of the halls w^e spoke of. Bill asks Jack, “ Do you 
remember our first Ivy?” 

“ I should think so. When we were so fresh as to think 
it great fun to fill Professor Barton’s desk with chalk 
and to mix up all his papers and books.” 

“Yes, but we got hold of his roll and gave Rollins, 
the goody-goody, a cipher and then scared him by 
showing it to him afterwards. What sport we had in 


THAT GLISTENS. 


103 


that room. Squeaking the chairs and taking slides after 
the floor had been waxed. Then blowing him up with 
fire-crackers and bombs ; till he must have thought him- 
self the Czar indeed.” 

“ It went too far the day a handful of corn was thrown 
in his face and he insisted on blaming K-ollins for it, 
when it came from the opposite side of the room.” 

“What a life you must have led that poor man! 
Cissie exclaims. Jack answers, “On the whole we treated 
him better than Dr. Arlington. All our musical powers 
were brought to bear on him. Tops, marbles, percus- 
sion caps, music boxes, dogs, cats, rabbits, dead rats and 
mice, everything you can think of, helped to make his 
recitations pleasant. Ask Bill about it. He was a ring- 
leader in all this.” 

“ Don’t you believe him. There wasn’t a better boy 
in the class than I was.” 

“ What fiends they all must have been,” Cissie gently 
remarks. 

“ Have you ever heard of the day. Bill thought dan- 
delions in our buttonholes and our pockets full of mar- 
bles wasn’t quite excitement enough, so he fainted. 

“No!” 

“He passed back word to us to be ready. Then got 
up to ask permission to leave the room and just as it 
was granted fell back in Ned’s arms. He was as white 
as a sheet and the class in a body carried him out and 
down stairs. It was all we could do to keep the Doctor 
from coming down too. One of the fellows, who wasn’t 
in the joke, kept fussing over him all the way down. 
You should have seen his face, when Bill opened his 
eyes and said, ‘ For God’s sake, shut up.’” 


104 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“I suppose, if I should let him, he would make me 
out a terror with all these recollections of his. 

‘ Sweet dreamland faces, passing to and fro, 

Bring back to memory years of long ago,’ ” 

hums Bill. Just as he does so, the band begins that 
very same waltz. 

“See how well they are trained. I hum the waltz I 
want and no matter where I am they play it. I am 
sorry Jack; butCiss promised me this waltz.” Off they 
go to the dancing room. With Bill an engagement for 
a dance is merely a means toward a tete-a-tete. So 
they very soon stop and wander up in the direction of 
Philo. This is a literary society; but you would scarcely 
think it from the frivolous uses to which it is put at 
these balls. Soon they find themselves upon the roof, at- 
tracted by the warmth of the spring evening and the 
moonlight. They come across a bench used for some 
repairs and then left there, a projection of the roof 
forming a back to it. It requires but little persuasion on 
Bill’s part to induce her to sit down. They have been 
talking in a very sentimental way and as they take 
their seats, he passes his arm about her. They begin to 
talk of the success of their joke. Cissie says, “How 
well we worked it together !” 

“So well, dearest that we should go on working to- 
gether. I read an article to-day on how to marry and 
live on S25 a week. Won’t you try it with me? I love 
you. If you love me, what’s the matter with marrying 
me?” 

“‘He will hold you, when his passion -shall have spent it’s 
novel force. 

Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.’ 


THAT GLISTENS. 


105 


What a pair we would be, always quarreling. Not, 
if I know myself I won’t. Sweet William! ” And she 
laughs so contagiously that Bill, though not in the 
best of humors, has to laugh too. “ Now, sir, that I have 
given you your cong§, isn’t your arm rather out of 
place, and had we not better return, as my company can 
scarcely be very agreeable.” They rise and return in 
silence ; for Bill is not particularly pleased at her con- 
tinued laughter. The first person they meet after leaving 
the roof is Ned. 

“ Skylarking, as usual, I see. That was a pretty poor 
joke of yours, sending us up to Girard College. AVe owe 
you one for it. I think I see my way to paying it too. 
Bill next time you want to put your arm around a girl 
beware of fresh paint; it gives awkward hints, some- 
times.” It was true Cissie’s back was covered with red 
paint, except a strip j ust where his arm had been, while 
his arm was covered with it too. Ned goes on. “ You 
must have been frivolling very hard. This will make 
a good story.” 

“ AVhy shouldn’t I frivol with my fianc4. He just 
proposed and I accepted him.” Telling this fib with the 
utmost coolness. Both men are silent from surprise for 
a few moments. Then Bill breaks it by saying , “ Don’t 
look so glum about it Ned. Though you are jealous that 
you are not engaged too.” 

“No, I am not. I was only surprised that all your 
squabbling should have come to this. Bill you must be 
in a fearful hurry to celebrate it, for I see you have 
begun to paint the town red already,” pointing to his 
sleeve. 


106 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ Oh, it is not too soon 

* A contract of true love to celebrate, 

And some donation freely to estate 
On the blest lovers/ 

Come Ned! The roof you see had given us its donation, 
while you haven’t even congratulated us yet.” 

“ Of course, I wish both of you the greatest happiness, 
that you cannot doubt. Come down and let the others 
hear the news. Put this shawl around you, Cissie, so no 
one else can make the same discovery.” 

“ Thank you. We will tell the rest of our party ; 
but don’t let it go any further. I don’t want to an- 
nounce it yet.” 

“ That is wise. You both may change your minds 
to-morrow, and it w^ould be awkward to announce it one 
day and break it the next.” As they go down the steps, 
Ned wisely leads the way. Bill whispers to her, “ Do 
you really mean what you said ?” 

‘'If you don’t want to take it as true, you need 
not. But I warn you, I am not often as kind. You 
had better take me in the humor. Besides, I sup- 
pose for my reputation it will be better to be engaged 
for a little while.” The others naturally wish them joy, 
and Jack remarks, “ They need not be afraid of having 
a dull house; their tongues will always be running races, 
and adding spice to their highly seasoned match.” 

“ Do you mean by that to insinuate that I have under- 
gone many seasons in Philadelphia society, and that our 
tongues are hung in the middle ? If you don’t apolo- 
gize you shall never enter our house.” 

“ And miss all the fun of seeing you fight, never ! I 
most humbly apologize for what I never said.” - 


THAT GLISTENS. 


107 


CHAPTER XII. 

The next few weeks fly, with what seems wonderful 
speed to our friends, busy with their preparations for the 
approaching match. Many are the parties of various 
kinds given to the pair. One evening Bill and Ned 
make up a little boating party, consisting of Edythe, 
Cissie, Gertie, Victor and themselves. As there are two 
engaged couples among them and Gertie is so much like 
a sister to Xed, Mrs. Saxon, who is not feeling well, 
thinks it unnecessary for them to have a chaperone. 
They row up the Schuylkill to Ringstetten, a small club 
house, just above what is known as the Falls, and have 
supper. On their return Ned and Gertie, who is pas- 
sionately fond of rowing, gently paddle down. Edythe 
and Victor, at the others’ request, sing to them as they 
float along. Just before they sing the last one, she asks 
Cissie, whether she has heard who it was, that they saw 
drive through the forest fire, “Who it is, that is your 
‘true and tried man?” 

“No, who is it?” 

“ I told all the others and thought I had told you. It 
was Victor.” 

“Not really. How strange. Now you know the 
fortune that azalea would have told you.” (Does she?) 

Edythe appropriately ends their singing with “At the 
Ferry.” As she ceases, she turns to Victor and murmurs, 
“What a happy omen, Vic; that that was the first song 


108 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


I ever heard you sing.” (Ah ! Edythe, you forget tlie 
last verse, which you and Victor never sing — 

*‘But ’tis long and long ago, and he is here no more ; 

I do but sit and dream and dream beside the quiet shore. 
The old boat still floats on, as in the years agone. 

And thy words are in my heart, my love, forever, ever more.”) 

“ Not only a happy, but a truthful omen too. I loved 
you then, the first instant that I saw you, as I love you 
now and my love will last forever, ever more.” 

Somew’hat a similar scene is enacting at the other end 
of the boat. Cissie is lazily trailing one hand through 
the cool water. The other lies listlessly in her lap. Bill 
at her side softly takes the other and whispers, (how 
often has it been repeated) “I never noticed w'hat a 
tiny hand you had. I see at last why I came so near 
losing it altogether.” 

“Do you, indeed? But it is not so small that I am 
afraid of losing it, if some one don’t hold it. If you will 
allow me to have it, I can make better use of it than you 
can, I think.” Then lifting her other hand, she lets a 
few drops fall on his forehead, saying: — 

“I will re-christen you, Will-o’-the-wdsp.” 

“Because I was so hard to catch?” 

“No, because no one can ever overtake the points of 
your jokes. They are always just in sight; but never 
reached.” 

“Oh. Come now, that is rather far-fetched. Mine is 
so much better. Why you literally threw yourself at 
my head and heart. Ask Ned if you didn’t.” For 
answer, he receives a handful of water in his face. 
“ Please remember, Cissie, I’m not a Baptist.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


109 


Our party has arrived at R . After a long journey 

on the cars, they were driven seven or eight miles to Dr. 
Dixon’s country place. On the porch they w^ere met by 
Dr. Dixon himself, a fine-looking white-haired old 
gentleman. When Victor introduced Edythe, he looked 
into her eyes steadfastly for a minute or two, then lean- 
ing forward, kissed her on the forehead, saying, “God 
bless you, my child.” Turning to the others, he bade 
them welcome and proceeded to make them feel at home, 
as only a Southerner can. For true hospitality, making 
you feel that his house is as much yours as his, commend 
me to a Southern gentleman of the old school ; for no- 
w^here, in the world can you find his equal as a host. 
Dr. Dixon’s house, a large, rambling, old-fashioned 
country-seat now rings with laughter, as it has not for 
many years, for a large party is gathered beneath its 
roof. The Saxons, Gertie, Cissie, Miss Merton, Miss 
Collins, Bill Palcy and Paul Collins are all of them its 
guests. While at Victor’s place there are, Arthur Scor- 
ville, another young Philadelphian, George Laurence by 
name, and Raymond Van Etten, who is to be best man. 
Naturally this latter party is continually at the Doctor’s. 
To Ned’s discomfort. Van Etten seems very much 
6pris of Gertie, who likes him quite well. Another 
quarrel has caused a slight coolness between them. So 
she, a born coquette, encourages Van Etten, to prove her 
independence of Ned. Jack has not as yet arrived and 
Ned foolishly allows his displeasure to be seen, which 
encourages Gertie to continue her flirtation. 

One afternon, within a few days of the wedding, 
Edythe walked to the end of the place with Victor, who 
was on his way home. Returning, she sees an old col- 


no 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


ored woman with difficulty turning the crank to raise a | 
bucket of water from a well near her cabin. Hastening 
at once to her assistance,, she easily draws the water and 
carries it to her door for her ; the old woman protesting 
all the time that such work should be left for such as her, 
that “Missy” will spoil her dress and dirty her hands. 
When Edythe is about to leave, the old woman asks if 
she is not the one, who is to marry “ Massa Victor.” 
When told she is right, she says, “Don’t ye do it, 
honey. He’s a bad un; too black like me. Massa 
Victor have bery black eyes, bery black hair ; bery black 
skin. Dat right for culured purson — not right for white 
Massa. Don’t marry him. Missy. He come to no good 
end. See it in his eye, bad eye.” Edythe listens to no 
more ; but hurries away, her cheeks scarlet with indig- 
nation. 

Arthur Scorville has furnished them no end of amuse- 
ment. We have heard how he spoke of Miss Collins 
formerly. On the way out, he had been thrown in con- 
tact with her to some extent and had found her quite 
attractive. As a, result he was continually boring her 
by his attentions. For having heard his remarks about 
her, she was not the girl to bend her knees at the first 
sign of favor from such exalted rank. Any less con- 
ceited man would have seen at once how disagreeable to 
her was his presence ; but Scorville could not. 

As the day drew near and no Jack appeared, much 
surprise was expressed. He had been forced to leave 
the city on important business; but was expected to 
join them before the wedding. The truth of the matter 
was, that this business was sufficiently important to enable 
him to stay away and yet have no disagreeable remarks 


THAT GLISTENS. 


Ill 


made about it, and he intended to stay away. But 
about two days before the time fixed, his old distrust of 
Victor came back so strongly, that he -decided to go on 
to see that all was right. He was ridiug on the rear plat- 
form of the last car, enjoying the scenery as they passed 
through some of the mountains of Virginia. When 
suddenly he felt a violent shock and was thrown into 
the air, fortunately falling upon a pile of loose earth, 
which formed a sort of a cushion and prevented any 
more serious hurts than a few trifling bruises. Picking 
himself up, he hurried toward the train, whence could 
be heard heart-rending cries for help. His train had 
collided with a freight train and the forward cars were 
completely wrecked. The last two however had escaped 
serious injury and their occupants were unhurt save for 
the shock. Jack knew, that, by walking on to the junc- 
tion, only a few miles distant, he could catch a train and 

reach E, just in time. But no one seemed to know 

what to do, and as there was danger of the wreck catch- 
ing fire at any moment, he felt his duty lay here, where 

the danger was immediate, rather than at R , where 

it was vague and uncertain. So he at once assumed 
command of those, who were able and wdlling to work, 
sending one portion to fight the flames that were break- 
ing out in the freight train, while with the others, he 
went to the rescue of those in the wreck. A wrecking 
train arrived in a couple of hours, together with several 
surgeons and a corps of volunteer nurses. Jack readily 
gave up the task he had performed so well, to hurry on 
in order to reach R , if possible, in time for the mar- 

riage. When he reached the junction, the train had 
gone and he found it was impossible. 


112 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER XIIL 

A wayward sunbeam, falling on Edythe’s fair face, 
calls upon her to arise ; for it is her wedding day. Out- 
side the birds are singing merrily. Everything is fresh 
and green, after the heavy dew, that sparkles on every 
leaf in myriads of tiny gems. The young corn plants 
are just peeping out at the world and the wheat begins 
to show that golden yellow, which betokens an approach- 
ing harvest. Overhead the heavens display a color 
that rivals the finest of Italy’s glorious blues. A per- 
fect morning for a marriage is the thought of all our 
friends. The old darky woman shakes her head, how- 
ever, as she stands at her cabin door. Way down in the 
west, just above the trees, she can see a little black 
cloud, shaped like a finger and not much bigger, point- 
ing towards the church. Larger and darker it grows, 
as it hurries on. Larger and darker, and the old wo- 
man still shakes her head muttering to herself as she 
hobbles to the church to see the ceremony. 

“No little scribbler is of wit so bare, 

But has his fling at the poor wedded pair,” 

says Addison. So we will hurry over what has been so 
often written. The whole neighborhood is there, curious 
to see the Eastern people, who have come all this dis- 
tance for a w’edding. At last to the notes of Mendels- 
sohn’s exquisite march, Edythe comes to the altar on her 
brother’s arm. The rumbling of thunder, with an occa- 


THAT GLISTENS, 


113 


sional flash of lightning is heard during the lovely ser- 
vice. At the moment when Victor should have made 
his answer, a bright flash, accompanied by a sharp, quick 
report that renders it inaudible even to Edythe and the 
Minister, startles the congregation, but that is all. The 
ceremony proceeds and Edythe and Victor come down 
the aisle together, as bonny a couple as one could wish 
to see. So thinks many a one that day. As they re- 
turn, Gertie, Edythe’s first bridesmaid, naturally is with 
Van Etten, who remarks to her “How like a pistol shot 
that thunder was !” A straight young tree, almost at the 
church door, is on the ground charred and disfigured by 
the flash. “Are you superstitious, Mr. Van Etten?” 

“No, I leave that for old women and children.” 

“In which category do you place me, for I am?” 

“I love beautiful children, so it must be in that.” 

“ I see, you can crawl out of a very small hole quite 
gracefully. But you must not think that I really am 
superstitious. I only said that to see what you would 
say.” 

“ I imagined it was said for efiPect, as I thought you 
had too much sense.” They have arrived at the house, 
where every one is shaking hands with the happy pair. 
After which tiresome ordeal, they start for a trip through 
Canada amid showers of rice. The thunder-storm is a 
topic of general conversation. The self-possession of the 
bride under the circumstances is particularly spoken of. 
No damage has been done except to the tree; while so 
little rain had fallen that it was over before the wedding 
W’as ended. 

The party breaks up with a hearty farewell to their 
kind-hearted host. As they go East together, Van Et- 
8 


114 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


ten is with Gertie, a good part of the time. At last be- 
coming rather tired of him, she calls upon Ned, who is 
reading not far off, to stand by something she has said 
about Miss Merton. Ned readily does so. Van Etten 
asks if they don’t think she is cunning in some of her 
ways. Ned replies, “In one sense yes. They might be 
cunning were she ten years younger. I don’t like veal 
manners on beef.” 

“Oh, come now. You are rather severe.” 

“No, he isn’t. Not one bit too much so. There she 
is calling to you. You had better see what your char- 
mer wishes.” As he reluctantly leaves, she says to Ned, 
“Do you know, I think Miss Merton is in love with Vic- 
tor. I know she hates Edythe for having married him. 
I watched her throughout the wedding. She was de- 
lighted when that thunder clap came and when she saw 
the tree outside the door. She is superstitious and thinks 
them bad omens. But you don’t think so, Ned?” 

“Of course not, you little puss.” After a pause, 
“ What are you thinking of?” 

“I was thinking of Jack. I wonder where he can 
be.” 

“ I forgot to tell you I received a telegram from him. 
There was an accident, a collision, and he was delayed. 
No. He wasn’t hurt.” 

“If he wasn’t hurt then, he was yesterday.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why Ned, are you blind? Don’t you know that he 
w^as in love with Edythe and is so still?” 

“No. I thought he had gotten over his slight fancy 
for her long ago. Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Positive.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


115 


“Poor Jack. I wish I had known this.’^ 

“You couldn’t have done anything and it might have 
distressed you, so he didn’t tell you.” 

“ I am very, very sorry. Of course I would rather she 
had married Jack, than any other man in the world. 
How is it, he came to confide in you and say nothing to 
me?” 

“He didn’t confide in me at first. I saw it, as any 
one could,, who didn’t have a brother’s blindness. Be- 
sides he probably thought it better to confide in a girl, 
as more likely to understand. You know Jack has quite 
a high opinion of me ; a good deal better one than most 
people. Wouldn’t you confide your heart troubles to 
me, Ned?” smiling archly. 

“ Certainly, as you are the cause of them.” 

“Suppose I should say you were the cause of mine?” 

“You have no idea how happy it would make me; 
but ” 

“But you’re not. Isn’t that it? Ned you don’t think 
me too small do you?” 

“Of course not. Why do you ask?” 

“ Ada Merton said, she didn’t know how men could 
like such small girls, that looked as if they w'ould blow 
away any minute.” 

“ It would be a beneficent wind that would blow Miss 
Merton away with all her fine speeches. I can’t under- 
stand what induced Edythe to ask her to go on with 
us.” 

“ I wonder where Edythe is now.” 

“ They must be nearly at Detroit by this time.” 

“ I suppose I shall meet them at Bar Harbor. Couldn’t 
j-ou get oflf and come up there too.” 


116 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


‘‘No. We shall be too busy then for me to leave.” 

“I’m so sorry. Changing the subject in something of 
a hurry, did I tell you of Jack Dolman’s latest?” 

“No. What is it?” 

“The other day he was walking up the street at his 
usual rapid gait. In front of him were Miss Knox and 
a friend. They supposing he intended to join them and 
not wishing it, walked on very fast. Really almost ran. 
Coming to a friend’s house, they waited on the steps till 
he had passed and then went slowly home. That even- 
ing Miss Knox received a formal note from him, saying 
that if she would look at the first verse, twenty-eighth 
chapter of Proverbs, she would find some good advice. 
Of course curiosity compelled her to look and she found, 
‘The wicked flee when no man pursueth.’” Ada Mer- 
ton approaches and asks at what they are laughing. 
Gertie answers “at Dolman’s last performance.” 

“ Something unusually bright, I suppose. By the w^ay. 
Miss Tremont, he is your latest conquest, is he not? If 
I were you, I should aim for higher game, not take what 
no one else will have.” 

“ At least I am always successful when I attempt to 
make a conquest. I don’t allow another girl to carry 
off what I have regarded as my own especial property.” 

“ You are lucky then. But isn’t it queer that Mr. 
Harden should not appear ?” 

“ Extremely,” answers Ned. 

“I should think that under the circumstances he 
would be particularly anxious to be present.” 

“ So should I,” acquiesces he. 

“ If he had no consideration for himself, he might 


THAT GLISTENS. 


117 


have some thought for Edythe. Think how it will be 
talked about. It was outrageous, it was shameful,” she 
goes on, working herself into a show of righteous indig- 
nation, as Ned does not contradict her ; “to allow a thing 
like that to keep him away, w^hen he could save her from 
such gossip by coming.” 

“ Are you sure you laiow what kept him away. Miss 
Merton?” 

“ Of course he did not want to see her marry a rival.” 

“ Then probably it will be highly satisfactory to you 
to know that he was coming, and that only a serious 
railway accident, in which he had a narrow escape, pre- 
vented his arrival. You can read the account of it in 
the newspapers.” 

“ Ah, indeed. I am glad to hear he suffered no in- 
jury ; then that was a lucky accident for him,” and she 
retired feeling somewhat uncomfortable, but smiling in 
spite of her defeat. 

“ The old cat ! ” Gertie exclaimed, as she left them, 
“ how I would like to choke her ! Making such a fuss 
about nothing. I don’t see what they could say about 
his absence, that would affect Edythe. Talking like that 
about Jack and to you of all men. How beautifully you 
kept your temper and took that rise out of her.” Beauti- 
fully kept indeed ; but it was there. His black eyes 
were flashing, and the veins of his forehead swollen. 
It was w^ell for Miss Merton she was a woman ; for had 
a man spoken to him thus, the consequences might have 
been serious. However, the black clouds of his wrath 
soon dispersed before the sunshine of Gertie’s gayety. 
Miss Merton is vowing vengeance, and woe betide Ned, 
if it is ever in her power to work him harm. 


118 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER XIV. 

We shall now ask our reader to make a little trip with 
us. Taking one of the Pennsylvania Railroad local 
trains, we alight at Ardmore, one of the prettiest of the 
many attractive stations on the main line. A half-mile 
walk over a rickety board-walk, or a drive in an equally 
rickety wagon, brings us to the cricket grounds. Arriv- 
ing at the gate, we perceive a sight, which must be 
pleasing to him or her, whether a lover of the game or 
not. To our left is an attractive looking club-house, to 
our right a grand stand, whose old and battered appear- 
ance should be a delight to the lover of antiquities. By 
its side is the Ladies’ Club House, a dainty little wooden 
building, between which stretches an expanse of green, 
velvety turf, kept in perfect order. At the near end is a 
plateau, upon which are pitched the cricket creases. A 
gentle slope leads down from this to another, which is 
used for tennis. We have but to look from this lovely 
field to the dark woods, that form the background on 
three sides, to acknowledge the truth of that judgment, 
which pronounces the Merion cricket-grounds the most 
beautiful of all those in the neighborhood of Philadel- 
phia, the American home of cricket. 

As for the membership of the Club, well, ask any 
cricketer who has played at the various grounds of this 
city, which Club (excepting his own of course) has uni- 
formly treated him with the greatest civility, and the 


THAT GLISTENS. 


119 


chances are he will answer the Merion. Proverbial for 
ill-luck, at no other grounds is the visitor more sure of 
gentlemanly treatment and a good crease. But enough 
of this subject, which, however interesting to the author, 
cannot fail to be more so to the members of the club than 
to the majority of our readers. 

The match to-day is with the first eleven of the Ger- 
mantown Cricket Club, hardly less popular than the 
Merion. It is one of the series for the Halifax Cup, rep- 
reseuting the championship of Philadelphia and thus of 
America. Ned Saxon is to play for the Merion, and a 
party composed of Gertie, Cissie, Bill Paley, and Jack 
Harden, have driven down in the middle of the day to 
see it. They find Lizzie Collins and Arthur Scorville 
by whom they take seats. The first innings is just end- 
ing as they arrive. It has been unfortunate for the home 
players; they having scored but 79 runs to their oppo- 
nents’ 142. Ned has been particularly unsuccessful, re- 
tiring for nothing in his batting attempt, and proving 
almost as unlucky in his bowling. 

As he comes up to our friends at the end of the innings, 
Gertie scolds him : “ What do you mean by getting out 
for a duck? If you don’t make double figures next in- « 
ning, I won’t speak to you again. Remember that when 
you go to the bat. You have been spoilt. You think 
you can always score, and become impatient. Please 
play steadily next time. I hate to see you get out for a 
small score.” Ned promises to do his best, and in re- 
turn, she allows him to share their lunch. 

Meantime Bill is talking to Lizzie Collins. “What 
do you think of cricket, Miss Collins?” 


120 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“It is an interesting game, but they lose so much time 
changing from one end to another all the time. It is 
very tiresome. I don’t see why they do it.” 

“Don’t you know? It is all on your account. They 
thought your eyes would become weary looking at the 
same spot all the time, so they thought to vary it by 
changing it that way. If you do not like it I will ask 
them to stop it. I am sure they will do it for you.” 

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not.” 

“Believe me, of course. ‘Believe me for mine honor, 
and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe.’ 

I always tell the truth.” 

“What is that?” asks Cissie, who has overheard this 
last remark. 

“ I was just telling Miss Collins that they had the overs 
on her account. Don’t they, Ciss?” 

“ It’s nothing of the kind, Lizzie. They have them 
because the grass at one end would become excessively 
tired, if the ball hit it all day; so they give it a rest by 
changing ends.” 

“If you won’t believe me, don’t believe her either; 
but think it a mystery of the game, that you have not 
mastered yet.” 

“I do believe that. What do you think of the Meri-, 
on’s chances of winning?” 

Bill answers with a smile, “ They are cock-sure to win.” 

“How is that? I thought the others were so far 
ahead.” 

“Oh, no. The object of the game, as we play it here, 
is to see which side can make the fewest runs.” 

“You must think me very green to believe such a 


THAT GLISTENS, 


121 


story as that. As you can’t tell the truth, it seems, I 
won’t talk to you any longer. There is Mr. Harden. I 
shall ask him. Mr. Harden, 'what do you think of the 
Merion’s chances?” As Jack sits down in front of her. 
“Things look badly now ; but a cricket match is ‘never 
lost till it’s won,’ so we may pull through. There they 
go at last. We can soon tell now.” 

The opening of the second inning is no more favorable 
than the first. Three wickets go down for thirteen runs. 
It is Ned’s turn to go in. As he rises to go out, Gertie 
says, “ There, I have put a buttercup in your cap for 
luck. Don’t be impatient, and do play steadily for my 
sake, Ned.” He promises again to do so, and he keeps 
his promise. A successful stand is made, and he remains 
at the bat till the telegraph shows the century, when he 
is caught out on a difficult catch. The total is 109 for 
six wickets. Of this he has obtained 56 by superb cricket. 
They all of course congratulate him. Gertie is wild with 
excitement and delight. She has scarcely been able to 
keep still while he was batting. At one or two of his 
big hits she fairly screamed for joy, and once when he 
was nearly run out she closed her eyes so as not to see it. 

“Well, Dolly, I wish you could be on the grounds 
whenever I play, I might make more big scores, if you 
■were there to keep me straight.” 

“That big hit of yours to the lower fence should have 
counted more than six. It was worth more.” 

“ It was a boundary hit.” 

“I don’t like boundaries when you are batting. I am 
sure that you could make more without them.” 

“ Gertie would like to see him make a hit for thirty- 


122 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


seven, like that one in Australia somebody told me 
about,” Cissie remarks. 

“That’s a good story,” says Bill. “I suppose your 

informant got it from the Cricketer. By the way that 

story reminds me of a good one I heard the other 
day. Quite appropriate, too, as this is a game of ball. 
In the recent w^ar with the South, a young fellow 

enlisted from Maine wdio had been the catcher for a 

local base-ball nine. One day his regiment was under- 
going the ordeal of the fire from a battery. He had 
been assigned for orderly duty, and was just report- 
ing to the Colonel, when seeing a small-sized shell 
coming directly towards them, he sprang forward, and 
catching it, threw it a considerable distance in front of 
him, shouting, at the same time, ^ Look out there on 
second.’ Then turning round to the officer, he said, 
‘Beg pardon, sir, I couldn’t let a man steal a base on me 
that way.’ ” 

“That’s a capital one. Bill,” from Cissie. “It is 
another of your own invention, I am sure. No one else 
could think of so outlandish a one.” 

The innings ended as he finished, and the home team 
were retired for 147, to which Ned’s score w^as decidedly 
the largest contribution. This left the visitors 84 to tie 
or 85 to win. Naturally they anticipated an easy 
victory. However, they were not so successful in the 
opening of their second innings as they had been in their 
first; Braithwaite, the Merion professional, as usual, 
proving too much for them. Wicket after wicket went 
down till five men w^ere out for 22. Then a stand was 
made. Thirty, forty, fifty went up without the loss of a 


THAT GLISTENS. 


123 


man. A number of bowlers, were tried without effect. 
At last Ned, who had bowled with but slight success in 
the beginning, was put on again. The change was a 
good one, for the stand was broken in his first over, 6 for 
59, or 26 to win. The new comer, however, had plenty of 
grit, for he hit the last ball of this over for three, and then 
hit Braithwaite for a pair of doubles; but in Ned’s next 
trial he lost his companion, 7 for 66, or 19 to win. The 
bowling was splendid, and the fielding very sharp, so 
runs came slowly, till the professional bowled another, 
8 for 73 or 12 to win. The excitement now was intense, 
and grew still more so, as a single off* Braithwaite and a 
four off Ned increased the score, only 7 to win. A cut 
for three brings the score to 81. Then Ned pitches the 
first ball of his over up to him. A big hit, surely a four, 
is made, and the game is lost. It is not quite big 
enough. The ball seems to hang in the air. Slowly it 
begins to fall, then swifter and swifter it moves, till it 
lands in the hands of one of the youngsters of the eleven, 
placed just within the ropes. He has fumbled it and ail 
is lost. No ! He recovers it before it reaches the ground, 
and the ninth man is out. The last one is in, a boy of 
sixteen. Eighty though is up and only four left to 
make. He is opposed to Ned’s bowling, and this over 
will probably decide it. The spectators hold their 
breath as Ned begins. The first ball is blocked ; but 
what is that crack? The batsman has driven the ball 
hard and straight, a certain four. But no. Ned has 
made a splendid stop ; the game is not lost yet. Again 
the ball is blocked and again. Ned starts for his last 
attempt of this over. No one speaks — all eyes are fixed 


124 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


on the batter. There comes the ball. What will he do 
with it ? It curves slightly while in the air, and pitches 
on his leg stump. He plays it back instead of forward. 
Put her up ! The ball has broken right across the crease, 
his off stump is down, the game is won. As he joins the 
others, Ned asks Gertie, “ Will you speak to me now, 
Dolly r 

“Oh, Ned, you’re a perfect love. AYhat would they 
have done without you ?” 

They easily make room for Ned in the cart, and they 
all drive to the Saxon’s to tea. Mrs. Saxon has taken a 
small place at Bryn Mawr, not far from the hotel, 
at which the Tremonts, Bill and Jack, are staying. 
When they reach the house they find Ada Merton there. 
She had come in the afternoon to pay Mrs. Saxon a 
visit, and had accepted her invitation to stay on in the 
evening. After supper they go to the drawing-room, 
where Gertie sits down at the piano to play for them. 
Cissie asks her to sing “ Good-bye Summer,” a song of 
Tosti’s that has just come out. “ I don’t know all the 
words, but I’ll sing what I know, and hum the rest.” 

She does so. Once when she is humming, she is 
suddenly interrupted by the report of a kiss, so loud 
that every one turns to where Cissie and Bill are sitting 
on the porch, just without the window. He, thinking 
some explanation necessary, says, “Don’t look such dag- 
gei-s at me, Mrs. Saxon ” (who is laughing heartily at 
Cissie’s blushing face), “she asked me, ‘What are we 
waiting for, oh my love?’ and then said, ‘ Kiss me right 
straight on the brow.’ What else could I do? As 
Adam said, she tempted me, and I could not resist.” 


THAT GLISTENS 


125 


“ You silly boy ! I was only saying the words of that 
song.” 

“ How could I know that ? Besides, they were rather 
suggestive. You see we were merely doing a little love 
making. Go on with your song, Gertie. I won’t offend 
again.” The evening passes right merrily as Bill fur- 
nishes them plenty to laugh at. 

\Vhen the party breaks up. Bill naturally sees his 
finance home. Jack and Gertie go to the hotel together, 
while to Ned falls the, to him, unpleasant duty of escort- 
ing Ada Merton. After a rambling conversation, she 
asks him, “ Don’t you think Gertie is becoming quite 
fond of Mr. Van Etten?” 

“ I haven’t noticed it.” 

“ He certainly is of her. You know he has been over 
several times to see her. I saw them together yesterday 
at the hotel.” 

“ But that don’fshow that she is fond of him.” 

“ No, but I saw her give him a ring. She put it on 
for him, and as she did so, looked up at him with an ex- 
pression that certainly was excessively fond.” 

“ It was probably one of his she was putting on with 
a wish,” he rejoins, trying to conceal the irritation he 
feels at her talking in this way about Gertie. 

“ No, for I saw it afterward on his finger, and it was 
that little gold serpent ring she always wears. You re- 
member it, don’t you ?” 

“ Yes, I remember it.” (He had given it to her him- 
self, as perhaps the reader remembers.) “But are you 
sure it is the same one ?” 

“ I am certain. If jou would like to see for yourself, 


126 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


come to our place to-morrow. He will be there. Come 
and take dinner with us. Your mother will spare you 
to me for once, and then you will have the best chance 
to find out whether I am right or not.”. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Xed goes to the Merton’s place to dinner in an un- 
comfortable frame of mind. Miss Merton’s remarks 
about Gertie had disturbed him more than he was will- 
ing to admit. He thought he was surfe she was mistaken 
about the ring, for he had too much confidence in Ger- 
tie’s sense of honor, to think that she would give away 
anything he had given her to any one, much less to a 
stranger. But he could not keep out of his mind, try as 
hard as he could, a faint suspicion that there might be 
some foundation for her words. Their many recent 
quarrels, her going to the Mjennerchor, after he had said 
it wasn’t a fit place for her, her rather prononc4 flirta- 
tion with Van Etten in Kentucky had all united to 
weaken his faith in her and would keep coming to his 
mind as evidence, that she might have given this ring 
away. Soon after his arrival, he had an opportunity to 
observe Van Etten’s hands closely. What was his cha- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


127 


grin to find there, on his little finger, the ring he had 
given Gertie. He knew it well ; for it had certain pecu- 
liarities, which distinguished it from other rings of the 
same kind. Daunted for the moment, the feeling came 
over him that she must have given it away. He resolved, 
however, to see whether she still wore his ring, for he 
could not forego the hope that this might be another in 
likeness of hers. His condition of mind was not much 
improved, when Miss Merton asked Van Etten, “Did I 
not hear you say something about of going to Bar Har- 
bor with the Tremonts?” 

“Yes. Miss Tremont was kind enough to give me 
permission to join their party, when she heard I was go- 
ing about the same time as they. Are you going to stay 
at Bodick’s in spite of the bad fare?” 

“Oh yes. You know I could not give up the fish- 
pond. Besides all those hotels are about the same. The 
eating is about as bad at one as the other. Who was 
that fashion plate I saw you talking to in the hall at the 
Hotel night before last? The little rosy-cheeked fel- 
low.” 

“ That was Rosy Collingshurst, otherwise known as Mr. 
Roswell Ames Endicott Whittier Longfellow Collings- 
hurst, of Boston.” 

“ How many trunks did he bring with him to carry all 
that?” 

“He generally travels with fourteen. I suppose he 
brought them all with him. He needs that many for 
his clothes alone.” 

“ I suppose he thinks he must clothe each one of his 
names. What kind of a man is he?” 


128 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“He is very well off for a bachelor and makes dress 
his occupation. He has nothing else to do, so it keeps 
him out of mischief. In character he is a specimen that 
you meet in all our large cities. Little head and big 
heart, particularly where ladies are concerned. He goes 
about fancying himself in love with nearly every girl he 
meets and saying the most absurdly flattering things to 
them.” 

“I suppose he has come here on ^ome such errand. 
Otherwise w'hy should he come so far?” 

“I suppose he did come on some such wild goose chase. 
Pardon me — you understand he is the goose not one of 
your sex. Speaking of him, recalls a story they tell of 
him. How true it is, I can’t say. When he was a boy 
of sixteen or thereabouts, of course not as wealthy, but 
quite as soft toward girls, he was or pretended to be very 
enthusiastic over Evangeline. One day three girls, to 
whom he had recently been attentive (gone on, I think 
their phrase would be), discovered that he had given 
each one of them a copy of Evangeline bound exactly 
alike and of the same edition. They became inquisitive 
and bustled about till they found that altogether thir- 
teen other girls of their acquaintance had been the reci- 
pients of precisely similar gifts. Every one had ‘from 
the heart of your devoted slave Koswell Collingshurst ’ 
on the fly leaf and beneath it 

‘May the woes of Evangeline 
Your heart to your Eosy soften.’ 

A couplet of which he was inordinately proud. For, as 
you might imagine he had written himself. Going to the 


THAT GLISTENS. 


129 


house of one of these girls one evening, he found the six- 
teen girls awaiting him. The hostess stepped forward 
and said, ‘Mr. Colliugshurst, the woes of Evangeline 
have so softened our hearts that we can no longer keep 
from you a book of which you were so fond as to buy 
by the dozen.’ The sixteen advanced toward him, each 
holding out her Evangeline. Rosy without a word 
turned and fled into the snow-covered streets without 
overshoes, hat or overcoat.” 

As we have remarked before, Cissie was not a beauty ; 
but besides her bright expression and a face that was 
certainly pretty, she had an unconscious trick that added 
much to her appearance, often making her look lovely. 
Without knowing it she would place herself in the most 
picturesque attitudes. Dressing as she did in a quaint 
old-fashioned style, she often looked as if she had just 
stepped out of some antique painting. A stray thought 
of this kind passes through Bill’s mind, when he finds 
her this afternoon. He enters the place passing through 
a gate, whose posts match the lodge of rough gray stones 
apparently heaped together without order and entirely 
free from mortar, and covered with vines which find a 
ready support among the projections of the stones. Scar- 
let geraniums, petunias and roses light up the dark walls 
with bits of color springing up in the most unexpected 
places. Nor is the place one whit less attractive than its 
entrance. Starting amidst a maze of flowers the carriage 
road winds through a bit of woods filled with tall, mas- 
sive trees, many of whom have reared their stately heads 
for a hundred years and more. Just before we pass out 
9 


130 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


of this wood a little stream, whose dark, fern-covered , 
banks suggest a coolness, delightful on such a warm sum- j 
mer day, goes babbling by beneath a stone arch, to | 
widen into an enchanting lake. Down to whose edges | 
the grass grows close and thick. The house — but no, 
our readers can imagine it with far more satisfaction than | 
we could describe it to them, so we will leave it to them, 
only premising that it is in thorough keeping with its ap- 
proach. Bill, after giving his horse to the footman, 
passes on to her favorite spot, where he knows he will 
find her, to a hammock swaying between two trees, a 
chestnut and an oak, whose thick foliage casts its pro- 
tecting shade over her. Clad in some light summer 
fabric, Cissie lies in the hammock, fast asleep. Her hair 
has become unfastened and falls in heavy waving locks 
upon her bosom ; one arm is pillowed behind her head, 
the other is half hidden by the mass of flowers scattered 
over her, through which her hand can just be seen. Her 
expression is serious and so unlike her usual laughing 
looks that Bill stops for a moment in surprise. Then a 
queer thought strikes him. She might have looked thus 
were she under some one of the fairy spells we hear so much 
about in our childhood. The Sleeping Beauty occurs to 
him. An irresistible and not unnatural impulse urges 
him to see whether he cannot break the spell as the 
prince had done. He bends over her and his lips meet 
hers. She starts up and, realizing the situation, is indig- 
nant, perhaps more. Alas for Bilks dreams ! He has 
broken the spell and with a vengeance. 

“ How dare you steal upon me that way and take such 
an advantage of me 


THAT GLISTENS. 


131 


“I didn’t steal upon you. I regularly traml)ed.” 

“You didn’t. You sneaked upon me and I hate a 
man that sneaks,” answers Cissie, the condition of whose 
hair does not improve her temper. 

“ Oh, come, Ciss ‘ an honest kiss ne’er goes amiss,’ you 
know.” 

“But yours was not an honest one. You stole it 
most dishonestly.” Cissie can’t remain angry for two 
minutes, when there is anything comic to be enjoyed; 
and the difference betweeen Bill’s expression when she 
first awoke and now, is sufficiently comic to have tickled 
the palate of the most thoroughly satiated epicurean in 
the realm of wit. For reasons of her own, however, she 
pretends to continue enraged. Bill answers that he don’t 
think it such a very heinous crime to kiss one’s fianc4. 

“ I am no longer your fianc4. I think appearances 
are saved now, and I have accepted another man,” hold- 
ing up her hand where his ring had been replaced by 
another’s. 

“ I will return you yours to-morrow.” 

True to his colors to the end. Bill says with a smile 
that lacks its usual brightness 

“ ‘But ’tis just these women’s ways — 

All the same the wide world over — 

Fooled by what’s most worthless, they 
Cheat in turn the honest lover.’ ” 

Cissie thinks with a smile that can scarcely be sup- 
pressed, “He is nearer the mark than he imagines.” 
But aloud she excuses herself on the ground of her ap- 
pearance ; so Bill takes his leave with a heavy heart. 


132 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


As Ned bids Miss Merton good-bye, slie says to him 
in a low voice in which the triumph and sarcasm can 
scarcely be concealed, “ Don’t let this affair lower your 
opinion of your own attractiveness. Gertie is probably 
enchanted by Van Etten’s money.” 

Naturally this attempt at consolation fails of its ap- 
parent end ; but is highly successful in the direction in 
which it was really meant. It shot one more rankling 
dart into his already poisoned mind. His condition as 
he walks away towards his home is unenviable. Try as 
much as he can, he cannot banish his suspicions. Little 
words, little acts, forgotten till now, rise up to strengthen 
them, and as he nears the entrance to their place, con- 
viction forces itself upon him. As a last hope, he de- 
termines to visit Gertie at once to see whether she still 
wears his ring or not. Passing on he soon reaches the 
hotel, and finding her, asks her to take a walk with him. 
As he does so, he notices that his ring is gone. His 
doubt has become certainty. Gertie remarks a quick 
flash in his eye, that to her accustomed mind betokens 
anger. A slight hesitation to accept only increases his 
passion. She at lasts consents. Passing along the porch 
and down the side steps, he is strangely silent. She to 
make up for it and to keep up appearances talks on, 
resolved to ask him the reason when they are alone. As 
they pass out from general observation, she tells him 
that Cissie has broken her engagement, saying she ex- 
pected it. 

“She is like all you women, fickle and heartless.” 
Gertie starts at his angry tone. 

“ Why, what do you mean ?” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


133 


“ Don’t attempt to play the innocent,” in a contemptu- 
ous tone. “ It is too late for that now. I know you have 
given my ring to V an Etten. Probably joking at the same 
time about the poor fool you have deluded. You need 
attempt no explanation. He is richer than I. Tie him 
to your triumphal chariot, drag him over the course. I 
am tired of being the sport of such a heartless, merce- 
nary coquette.” 

Gertie had tried to defend herself, as yet only pained 
by his fury ; but when he had refused to hear her, her 
blood fired at his words, and turning to him a face as 
enraged as his own, she says, “ How dare you speak to 
me thus ? How brave, how honorable, to insult a weak 
woman, who cannot resent it. Whatever you say of 
Mr. Van Etten, he is too much of a man to speak to a 
woman in such a way.” They had turned, and as she 
said this, she went back to the hotel and soon reached 
her room almost unperceived. Ned, too, hurries away; 
whither it matters not. A brisk walk of half a mile, 
however, brings him to his senses. Returning, he meets 
Bill, who has been out for an airing, himself. Ned re- 
membering what Gertie had said, after shaking hands 
with him says, “So we are in the same boat. We have 
both come to know woman’s falsehood and fickleness.” 

“ What ? Has Gertie thrown you over ?” 

Ned answers, “ Yes.” 

“Whew,” and Bill gives a long whistle. “You look 
fearfully down in the mouth about it too. Come cheer 
up old man ! Never say die. What is that Scotch pro- 
verb about nineteen nay-says equalling a yea ? That’s 
about my principle. Cissie has refused me three or four 


134 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


times in fun, and twice in earnest, so some day I Lope to 
receive the requisite number. Perseverance will win 
almost any woman in the long run, provided she don’t 
absolutely hate you, and may do so even then. I’ll back 
you to win against any New Yorker.” 

Bill rattled on, doing his best to encourage his friend ; 
but the latter, not having his sunny disposition, was 
unable to look at his misfortune in the same light. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


135 


CHAPTER XVL 

Bar Harbor! Land of fogs, flirtations and bad fare! 
to you we must now “wend our weary way.’^ Yet stay 
— since the last Presidential campaign, alliteration is 
odious to nearly half our nation and to probably a much 
larger portion of the Quaker City’s population. We will 
then respect their prejudices and spare their feelings. 
“Farewell, a fond farewell,” to all the choice adjectives 
and phrases we. had found or coined to describe the 
prince of summer resorts, or should it be princess? 

It is curious the amount of liberty allowed here to even 
the most strictly guarded at home. This is perhaps be- 
cause of gossip there is almost none. The old lady gossips 
do not frequent it, and though it would be a superb field 
for the exercise of their peculiar talents, let us hope they 
never will. The young ladies and the men are too busy 
enjoying themselves and have too many pecadillos of their 
own to bother themselves about others. So mirth and 
joy reign untrammelled. The majority of our characters 
are now treading the boards at Rodick’s, the joyous 
centre of this realm of wit and gayety. Scene first is in 
the fish-pond. To frequenters of Bar Harbor no expla- 
nation of this is necessary. To the uninitiated it may 
be well to say, that this is the name given to the hall; be- 
cause, as it is generally explained, this is where the wo- 
men come to fish for the men. An explanation calcu- 
lated to increase the latter’s conceit and not as true as if 


136 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


reversed. However, this place is probably responsible 
for more affaires du cceur than any other of equal size 
W’ithin our knowledge; or to be en rapport with its name, 
more human fish have been hooked within its narrow 
limits than within any other pond dedicated to the same 
purpose. Mr. Rosy Collingshurst draws near its danger- 
ous limit, a fish ever ready to be hooked. He is carefully 
gotten up in a blue cloth hussar jacket, trimmed with 
black silk braid, patent leather Oxford ties, fawn-colored 
gaiters, with plaid trowsers, all in the height of fashion. 
Alas for Rosy the decree has gone forth, they must be 
worn skin-tight. His little legs are encased in a pair so 
glove-like that he is scarcely able to bend his knees. 
This makes descending the stairs hardly an enviable 
labor. The last flight is gained in safety. The end is 
at hand, when one of his feet slips, he cannot help him- 
self, and down the steps he slides, gaining rapidity at 
every moment. The consequences will be serious, for the 
lower steps are crowded. Van Etten stops him in the 
middle of his career with “Way enough. Rosy. We’ll 
make it a half-way trip this time.” 

Gertie looks around at him and says, when her laughter 
permits, “Mr. Collingshurst, you must have reached your 
second childhood to enjoy such an amusement as sliding 
down stairs.” 

“ Perhaps he has not left his first. How about that. 
Rosy?” 

His youth is a sore point with Mr. Collingshurst. 
Miss Merton, however, calls him to her side with “ Won’t 
you speak to me, Mr. Collingshurst? I have heard so 
much that is interesting about you.” Drawing back her 


THAT GLISTENS. 


137 


skirts, she makes room for him at her side in such a manner 
as to effectually screen him from the gaze of the rest of the 
finny inhabitants of the pond. Her kind, almost grave 
manner, when every one else is laughing at his mishap, 
makes him her slave on the spot. A few minutes later 
Cissie and Bill join the party. Their appearance calls 
forth such an expression of consternation — almost terror 
upon Collingshurst’s face, that Bill in a hurried whisper 
asks Cissie “ Am I really so ugly ? See how I frighten 
Collingshurst.” The tone of voice, which he intended 
to be amusing, had such a touch of sadness about it as to 
destroy whatever fun there might have been in his re- 
mark. Cissie pays no attention to him, exclaiming, “ Do 
let’s make up a buck-board party to drive to Somesville 
to-morrow? I must have a good supper soon or I shall 
die.” (Tragically.) “You will chaperone us, won’t you, 
Edie?” 

“I shall be only too glad,” she answers. A quiet 
mood had come over her, to Victor’s disgust, who wished 
his wife to do him honor by shining in conversation. 
This evening Miss Merton had monopolized it. All 
readily agreed to Cissie’s proposal and resolved them- 
selves into a Committee on Ways and Means. Gertie, 
turning to Van Etten, says, “I have never enjoyed a 
supper more than those they have at Somesville. Have 
you?” 

“Yes, once, at Greenville, Tennessee.” 

“You must have had a tremendous appetite to think 
it better than those at Somesville.” 

“I shall probably have a better one to-morrow.” 

“I am sure there must have been some particular 


138 


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reason for your enjoyment of this supper. What was it?” 
And Gertie frowns as if in deep thought. 

“ Perhaps it was the beauty of the waitress,” puts in 
Victor. 

“Maybe she was a lady disguised like that girl in 
the Dutchess’ story. *Her first appearance.’ Southern 
girls are very handsome. Was she, Mr. Van Etten?” 
asks Ada Merton. 

“Very. Only perhaps a little too dark for my taste.” 
As Miss Merton is a dark brunette, this is thought a 
betise, and Gertie whispers, “ Beware !” He smiles, but 
says nothing. 

“Was your beauty really a lady?” from Gertie. 

“She might have been a princess in her own country.” 

“She was a foreigner then. AVhere did she come 
from?” 

“ I am not sure. Miss Merton. I think from Africa. 
She was the blackest negress I ever saw.” Here the dis- 
gusted expressions of the girls who were expecting a 
romance proved too much for him and he roared with 
laughter. Cissie, from a twinkle in his eye and know- 
ing a little of the place, had expected something of 
the kind, so she had turned her attention towards Bill. 
That young gentleman was sitting in a most disconsolate 
attitude, staring at a tack, which fastened down the car- 
pet. 

“ Bill, I don’t think you could drive that tack in any 
further, if you stared at it till doomsday. Let it alone. 
Why, you are in a regular * brown study.’ ” 

“That’s it,” looking up at her with a smile, as though 
she had resolved the doubt for him. “You’ve found 


THAT GLISTENS. 


139 


what has been puzzling me for the last half hour. There 
floated through my mind just a shadowy image of it. I 
tried in vain to grasp it.” He paused, as though lost in 
thought. 

What is this great question I’ve found for you?” 

Why it should be called a brown study ? Green it 
might be, if the fellow was green, or blue if he felt blue, 
as I always do; but why brown? Why not black, white 
or yellow?” He looks around as though seeking an an- 
swer. As no one volunteers to solve this knotty problem 
for him, he returns to the tack, as if to drag from it the 
solution. But do you think he was thinking of that? 
All through this little conversation, so characteristic of 
him, his manner had a tinge of melancholy ; even his 
smile was sad. 

Love is a passion, whose effects are various ; 

It ever brings some change upon the soul. 

Some virtue or some vice, till then unknown.” 

Later on, Cissie and he are wandering on a path that 
passes along the shore. She has hitherto had the con- 
versation to herself. At last she turns suddenly to him, 
when he has failed for the third time to answer a ques- 
tion. “What has happened to you? Has the cat run 
away with your tongue? You seem oppressed with sad- 
ness. Can I help you to remove it ?” 

“You know you can, Ciss.” 

“How?” 

“ Can you ask how ? When you know it is my love 
for you that causes my misery. 

“ Why don’t you cast it from you then ?” 


140 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ Ah, that I could ! But no, in ray very wretchedness 
I find ray joy. My feelings are those of that new song : 

* I think of all thou art to rae. I dream of what thou 
canst not be. My life is cursed with thoughts of thee 
forever and forever.’ ” He sings it through. When his 
voice is still, Cissie is silent, overcome with the beauty 
of that song, heard for the first time on such a night, 
and by some novel emotion in her breast. But she strug- 
gled against it while he was speaking, and as he ceased, 
she conquered it and became her wayward self again. 
He has gone on to say: “ For a long, long time, almost, 
I think, since I have known you, I have loved you. 
Then my love was like that moon in daylight, but a faint 
dash of cloud before the brilliant light of the sun. As 
the moon too grows brighter and brighter at sunset, 
so my love grew stronger and stronger, till it bears as 
great a sway o’er my bosom as the queen of the night 
does o’er her kingdom.” 

Mischievously she asks him, “You have compared 
your love for me to the moon ; what was the sun, that so 
eclipsed it? Your self-love?” Bill wisely declining to 
answer this question, she goes on : “You have spoken of 
love. It is said hope should go hand in hand with it, 
you know.” 

“ I once thought it did; but now ” A sigh finishes 

the sentence. 

“ But now you think it like yonder meteor, or one of 
those dim stars, that blazing in an unnatural brightness 
for a few weeks falls back into deeper obscurity, or dis- 
appears altogether.” 

“ What is this ?” she exclaims, as the air becomes 


THAT GLISTENS. 


141 


thick and murky, and a white cloud appears rapidly 
approaching them. No need to answer. They know 
too well ; a fog is at hand. A moment of silence as 
they retrace their steps. Then as it closes in on them, 
shutting out all objects from their view, save those within 
a few feet of them, she resumes her teasing. “ There, 
the fog has destroyed your emblem of love and hope. 
If it has destroyed the love itself, you should be thank- 
ful to it.” 

“I shall give it thanks for another reason. It has 
separated us from the rest of the world. Would that it 
would always do so ! I never feel as much alone any- 
where else as in a fog. Don’t you feel so too?” 

No. It never gives me any feeling but a desire to 
get out of it.” 

Kepulsed and made fun of. Bill looks so mournful that 
she relents. Asking him for his arm, she draws close 
up to him, and with a charming smile says, “ Bill, I have 
discovered something.” Slightly encouraged by her 
manner, he asks, “What is it?” 

“ If your eyebrows were a quarter of an inch longer 
you could actually scowl. No! That isn’t what I have 
found.” The hotel is almost reached. “ I have found you 
the easiest person to tease I ever came across and — yes, 
I am coming, mother” — just as she leaves him, “the 
dearest old goose about it too.” As she goes off with 
her mother, she gently calls good-bye, and kisses her 
hand to him. Her reflections are something like this : 
“I never saw him like this before. How much in earn- 
est!” and admitting it with reluctance even to herself, 
“ how much more attractive ! I never heard him sing 


142 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


before, as he sung that song. What can have ch^ged 
him ? I must make him give me the words. She drop- 
ped off to sleep. Bill as he went to his room in “whisky- 
row ” thought to himself, “ She is right. I am easily- 
teased. What can have happened to me ? I never used 
to be. It is too bad; but she can do what she pleases 
with me.” 


TEAT GLISTENS. 


143 


CHAPTER XVII. 

When Victor joins the rest at the breakfast table, he 
brings them word that Edythe is feeling too unwell to 
leave her room. The girls, finishing their little relished 
breakfast, hurry up to her room. Victor some time after 
turning from the office counter where he has been light- 
ing a cigarette, meets Ada Merton coming down the 
stairs. “ Edythe says she won’t be able to come down 
for several days. I am so sorry. It is so hard on you ; 
for it must take so much from your pleasure.” 

“ I shall have to take refuge with you other girls.” 

How delightful that will be for us !” 

“ It is rather a bore, though, that she should be ill to- 
day. I had set my heart on going canoeing this morn- 
ing. I have been here for a week now, and haven’t been 
out once.” 

“ Can’t you go out anyhow ?” 

“ Yes, but it is so tiresome going by one’s self. Every 
one of course has made his or her arrangements, and I 
am left out in the cold.” 

“ Are you sure of that ? Are you sure you must go 
alone ?” 

‘‘ What do you mean ? Can it be that you have no 
engagement ?” 

“Why do you wish to know?” Suddenly changing 
her manner, before his eagerness. 

“ Because if you have none, I ask you to go with 
me.” 


144 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ I will go with you with pleasure,” readily throwing 
Rosy over. “When shall it be ?” 

“ Now, if you wish it.” A short walk brings them to 
the float. She asks him, “ Are you fond of paddling ?” 

“Not exactly. I am devoted to canoeing. Laziness, 
though is the worst of my many faults. The actual work 
is not pleasing to me.” (When he spoke of his faults she 
looked at him with a pretty air of disbelief, and softly 
murmured, “You don’t do yourself justice”). 

“Then won’t you let me paddle? I love it so.” At 
first he naturally demurred. As she continued her en- 
treaty, he consented. Reclining on a soft skin in the 
forward part of the canoe, a cigarette in his mouth, he 
could not conceal from himself that he had not been so 
thoroughly comfortable for a long time. His eyes, too, 
were fixed on what was to him a beautiful picture. His 
mental remark was, “ By Jove, what a stunning figure 
she has, and how gracefully she does it.” Ada Merton 
deserves his praise. A closely fitting waist of some 
white stuff displays a figure that nature and art had 
combined to render perfect. All the lines are perfectly 
rounded and perfectly proportioned. She has escaped the 
stumbling block of most women who attempt to improve 
on nature. She has not a tiny waist, out of all keeping 
with her shoulders, and bearing on its face proof that 
the owner knew not how to leave “ well enough alone.” 
No — nothing could be in better proportion than hers. 
Miss Merton is a type of the beauty which appeals to 
the great masses of men, and to many, who by birth and 
education should be their superiors. She has the beauty 
of the senses. Just nov/ it is shown to the utmost ad- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


145 


vantage. Long practice has enabled her to bring the 
science of paddling to a fine art. In every movement 
there is grace. Carrying the paddle forward, dipping 
it in the water, the stroke itself and the slight turn at 
the end, by which she keeps the canoe straight, each is 
an undeveloped poem. Victor naturally compares her 
beauty to that of his wife. His judgment will portray 
the man. Miss Merton’s as we have said is of the senses ; 
Edythe is that of the intellect. Which does he prefer ? 

How gracefully you paddle. Miss Merton.” Passr 
ing this by with a smile, she asks, “ You were with Miss 
Knox last evening. What do you think of her ? Isn’t 
she beautiful ?” 

I thought so until she began to play on the piano. 
Then I was desillusion4.” 

“ Why, don’t you think her playing is lovely, too ?” 

That wasn’t it. I could not help looking at her 
hands as she played. I never saw such a resemblance 
in my life,” musingly. 

“To what?” 

“ To the sea spiders we catch out crabbing. Her 
fingers are long and scrawny with pointed nails, just 
like their feelers.” Miss Merton laughs, and remarks 
with a playful grace, “ How can you be so mischievous as 
to make bright, unkind speeches ? Dull, unkind speeches 
do no harm. We forget them as soon as said. It’s the 
bright ones that makes the mischief.” After a moment 
or two she goes on with “ Edythe tells me you have de- 
cided to live in Philadelphia, I am so glad. We’ve so 
few bright people here. (The sentiments in this conver- 
10 


146 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


sation are Victor’s, and Miss Merton’s; the author is not 
responsible.) Don’t you think so ?” 

“You can scarcely expect me to say yes, as I have 
married one and in the presence of another.” 

“ That don’t matter. Edythe and her friends are better 
than the average, and present company never counts.” 

“ With those exceptions, I think, I must agree with 
you. Your old families have gone to seed, and need an 
infusion of new blood.” 

“ You are doing your best to give it to us. That isn’t 
all that’s wrong. We travel so little that we become 
narrow minded. The great majority of our society 
people never leave home except for the country in its 
neighborhood, and for a trip up here, and this is little 
Philadelphia. Those who do go away, shut their eyes 
to all that is good where they go.” 

“You are severe; but there is truth in what you 
say.” Suddenly, without warning, a fog sweeps around 
from behind the island they are skirting, and completely 
encloses them. Turning, they follow the island for some 
distance, till Victor advises her to leave it and follow a 
certain direction. She knowing it to be wrong, com- 
plies ; but in a few minutes gently turns in the right one, 
unperceived by him. When they reach the float she 
thanks him, and says, “ If I had been out with any one 
else, we would be drifting about out there now. How 
well you know this bay! You haven’t been on it for two 
years either, have you ?” 

They are not the only ones who have been caught in 
this fog. Gertie was lazily enjoying the lovely morning. 
The gentle motion of the waves, the very consciousness 


THAT GLISTENS. 


147 


of being on the water was a joy to her. When added to 
this was the exultant feeling of being in the open air on 
such a summer day, Gertie was serenely happy. Her 
gladness was too great for words. Van Etten too had 
much the same feeling. In silence he gently paddled 
on, feasting his eyes as much as he dared on the tiny 
figure before him. As he gazed upon her, Tennyson’s 
words seemed to be whispered by the wind, “ A perfect 
form in perfect rest.” At last Gertie, in whom silence 
for so long a time is unprecedented, murmurs, How 
glorious! My happiness is complete.” Van Etten thinks 
his happiness may be nearing its completion, and softly 
asks, “ Is there nothing that could add to it now ?” 

Nothing.” 

Alas for short-lived human bliss I 

When the king of the mist. 

Speeding on the wings of a gentle gale, 

Her lips in wanton merriment kissed, 

All about he spread his thick white veil 
To hide the theft.” 

At once their course was reversed, and Van Etten ex- 
pended his energy in striving to reach Bar Harbor. He 
had gone so far as to be beyond the landmarks they 
knew. No guide apparently was left to him. Puzzled as 
to how to verify his course, he bethought him of the wind. 
That might continue to blow from the same quarter, and 
the chance was worth a trial. It proved a broken reed. 
After an hour’s hard work, he found himself abreast of 
a little island that had a familiar look about it. “ I 
don’t believe you know the way back,” came from Gertie, 


148 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


who was rather provoked at having her morning spoiled 
in this fashion. Van Etten not wishing to discourage 
her, answered, “ Yes, I think I do.” A longer inspec- 
tion of the island proved it the same one, as that near 
which they had been when the fog overtook them. He 
said nothing about his discovery. But her temper and 
patience were exhausted. In a petulant tone, she ex- 
claimed, How slow you are ! I think you might 
hurry.” 

“ I am doing the best I can.” 

“ I wish Ned were here.” 

“ What could he do ?” 

“ He wouldn’t keep me in this nasty damp fog to catch 
my death. You don’t seem to care whether I do or not. 
Indeed I suppose you would rather I did.” 

I wish your Ned was here to put up with the whims 
of a girl, who has no respect for others’ feelings.” 

“ He wouldn’t keep circling round one small -island 
all the time. Did you think I didn’t recognize it too ? 
Something must be done.” 

“ Those trees have a very dense foliage, perhaps if we 
landed we might find shelter.” 

We can try it. I wish what Rosy said the other day 
was true.” 

What was that?” 

“ He called me an angel, and if I had wings I could 
fly out of this.” Landing was no difficult matter, and 
after they had done so and he had placed the canoe in 
safety they took refuge among the trees. A little path 
led them to a charming place of shelter. The branches 
had been broken off so as to leave an open place suffi- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


149 


cient for half a dozen people. Above and around it, so 
thick was the lattice work of twigs, leaves and vines, 
that the fog had no opportunity of entering. On a little 
stone hearth were a few embers of a dying fire, and near 
by a small lunch basket, its contents untouched. Some 
good fairy in the shape of a picnic had prepared every- 
thing for them. 

‘‘ I always hated picnics, but I shall dote on them 
after this!” exclaimed Gertie, as they were partaking of 
the lunch. Van Etten had rekindled the fire with the 
cones, pine needles and dead wood that was scattered 
about in profusion. Gertie rapidly recovered her good 
humor under the influence of warmth, the lunch, and the 
delightful scent of the pines. The fire, anon springing 
into a brilliant blaze as she playfully threw a few cones 
or branches upon it, and again dying down, lit up her 
flossy hair and found a mirror in her sparkling eyes. 
Van Etten lying at her feet found himself so in every 
sense of the word. But every attempt of his to give the 
conversation a sentimental turn was useless. She would 
not listen, and merry jests were all the answers to his 
most loverlike remarks. When the fog slowly rolled 
away they hurried back to Bar Harbor. Even so it was 
seven o’clock before they reached the hotel. 


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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A score of our friends are closely packed in a couple 
of buck-boards, bound, as Bill feelingly expresses it, on 
a supper hunt at Somesville. College songs and cheers 
are the order of the evening. Columbia’s noisy yell is 
answered from the other board by Pennsylvania’s long 
drawn out. Bill has taken refuge from Cissie’s vagaries 
with Gertie, and Rosy Collingshurst foolishly usurped the 
place left for Van Etten on the other side of her. As 
they approached a part of the road made dark by over- 
hanging trees. Bill turns to Rosy and asks him whether 
he has brought a pistol, “for, you know, this is where 
just such a party as ours was robbed of all their money 
and jewelry by a gang of masked men on horseback. I 
suppose you have heard of it ?” 

“Yes. But that was several years ago, and I thought 
it was in another part of the island, so I didn’t bring 
mine with me.” 

“How could you be so careless? I don’t think any of 
the other men had one here. We were all depending 
on you and you have failed us. If we are robbed it will 
be all your fault,” and Gertie looked stern. 

Bill went on, “ I hear that some Italian brigands, who 
immigrated lately, have taken to their old trade up in 
this direction. They always keep one of the party, and 
have a pleasant way of cutting off his ears and nose and 
drawing his teeth, if the ransom be not soon forthcom- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


151 


iiig. As you are the richest of us and were so careless 
you must be hostage.’^ 

“For your sake, Mr. Collingshurst, I hope there will 
he no trouble about the ransom.” 

Rosy looked from one to the other with a countenance 
from which fear and astonishment had removed the few 
traces of intellect, to be seen there at any time. A sound 
of galloping horses was heard, and Bill at once exclaimed, 
“That must be them! Now then. Rosy, prepare to bid 
adieu to all your friends.” 

“Oh, Miss Tremont, don’t let them give me up! I’ll 
never be so careless again. Indeed I won’t. But I have 
n6ver loaded it. I don’t know how, and it would shoot 
me sooner than any one else.” The sound drew nearer 
and nearer. “Do ask our driver to turn around! We 
might escape them.” As no one attempted to do so, he 
wrung his hands, exclaiming, “ What shall I do? What 
shall I do ?” Then sinking upon the floor, his face bathed 
in tears, he moaned, “ Perhaps they may not see me 
liere.” It was all they could do to reassure him, even 
after the supposed brigands had passed harmlessly by. 
He was sure they would come back. At every turn of 
the road, at every rustle of the leaves, he would give an 
agonized start; intensified, we fear, by a gr 9 an or whoop 
from Bill, who seemed to take an excessive pleasure in 
making him ridiculous and uncomfortable. 

When the party were about to start for home, after 
supper, Gertie and Van Etten were not to be found, and 
it was not until they were about to give up the search 
that they appeared. Rosy did not return with her, but 
gladly gave up that seat. 


152 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


When Victor arrived at the hotel, he said to Edythe, 
“ I wish you would be a little more lively. I am sure 
you could be all right again, if you would only make up 
your mind to it. Charlie Calhoun’s wife was the life of 
our party. I’d like to show him that my wife is brighter 
and more attractive than his.” 

Some kind friend is always to be found to repeat and 
exaggerate our mistakes. Ada Merton, who had been 
carrying on a correspondence with Mrs. Saxon, wrote to 
her that Gertie was cutting up badly with Van Etten, 
and told how she had been out all day in a canoe, and 
had been lost, at Somesville (though nothing at all out 
of the way had taken place there), and a few other 
things, not bad in themselves, but made so by the repe- 
tition. As she intended, Ned saw the letter. 

A little while later some girls and men were gathered 
on one of the slips, having returned from boating. Rosy 
Collinghurst drew up in a canoe. As he rose to step 
out, he lost his balance and plunged headlong into the 
water. It was not deep, so his feet stuck out, waving 
violently in the air. Several men went to his rescue and 
easily fished him out. The instant he was on his feet 
again, in a hurried whisper he asked Bill, “How did it 
look. Are the girls laughing at me? Am I such a sight?” 
To have any one, every lock of whose hair is running a 
race around or over his face, whose teeth are chattering 
and lips blue, from every point of whose clothes little 
streams are pouring, ask you whether he is such a sight, 
would be rather too much for most men, but Bill kept 
his face straight while answering: “They were all en- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


153 


clianted. We have never really had a chance to see how 
small and aristocratic your feet were. By Jove, they’re 
charming. I would learn to walk on my hands, if I were 
you.” 

“Would you? I believe I will.” He kept his word, 
as many a bump on his head can testify. As he hurried 
up to the hotel, the others kept up a running fire of 
jokes about him. “I believe he proposes to every girl 
he meets,” said one. “ Yes, and the worst of it is, he 
won’t take no for an answer. Half his conversation con- 
sists in trying to persuade you to accept him.” 

“ He is so conceited, he thinks every one of us in love 
with him, only we are too coy to accept him, or think 
ourselves too far beneath him. I wish I could get rid 
of him. Snubbing won’t work.” 

Cissie said with a smile, “I can tell you how. You 
know he never comes near me, though he was once quite 
attentive.” 

“How did you manage it?” they asked in chorus. 

“I accepted him, and he hasn’t been near me since.” 

They took her suggestion. Half a dozen accepted him 
in the next two days, and he left at once. 

Taking advantage of the last of the moon, a large 
party drives to Otter Clifls. As they alight, Victor pairs 
off with Ada Merton, for Edythe is still unwell. Cissie 
and Bill, always adventurous, climb to the top of the 
Cliff and take a position where they can command every 
rock. In front, the sea lies calm and dark, save in the 
moon’s path. Below are the rocks now jutting out to 
luxuriate in a sea of light, now retreating in to the darkest 
corners lit only by a cigarette, as it w’ere a tiny lighthouse 


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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


to warn all comers of the dangerous reefs hid in those 
dark depths. Cissie, as she reaches the top, exclaims, 
‘‘ Look at the moon’s wake or trail, whichever it is ! 
Doesn’t it look like a caricature of those pictures in Sun- 
day-school books of angels innumerable fading away into 
the distance, each one with a star or halo about its head ? 
I do believe a lot of imps are doing it on purpose.” 
Bill, without answering, breaks out with, “Kosy Col- 
lingshurst was the fellow you accepted and for whom you 
threw me over ? I am sure of it.” 

*‘Yes. It was he.” 

Was that quite fair? I believed you in earnest when 
you said you had accepted some one else. Now, since it 
seems you only accepted him to get rid of him, don’t you 
think you should try me again, to make up for the way 
you treated me ?” 

‘‘Try you again? No, thanks! One trial was quite 
enough. Besides, do you think I could ever love a man 
who does nothing, is nothing, but a buffoon? For 
though you are very amusing, still no one can do more 
than laugh at you.” 

“What would you have me do? I doubt whether I 
have brains enough to accomplish anything, and then I 
have no profession.” 

“I can’t pretend to say what you prefer. I am too 
much of a shuttlecock myself to know my own mind for 
longer than five minutes at a time, so I certainly can’t 
be expected to know yours. Perhaps that is the reason 
I always like a man with some settled purpose. You 
have money, and a man with money can always do 
something.” 


THAT GLISTENS, 


155 


That night Bill says to himself, ‘‘ Cissie is right. I 
am nothing but a jester. Only a few of my friends do 
more than laugh at me. Most fellows think me a jolly 
fellow to have around, with more wit than brains, and 
they certainly don’t respect me. What shall I do?” 
Then, after more thought, ‘‘I suppose a man ought to 
look after his own property. I’ll go down to Brazil to 
see how things are getting on. It will be a bore, though ; 
still, Cissie wants me to do something. It will be a good 
thing to be away from her too ; if she cares at all for me, 
it will be the best thing to bring her round” The com- 
munity was startled by the disappearance of Paley the 
next morning. He left early, and Victor and Gertie 
were the only ones whom he had bade good-bye. A 
single line to Cissie told her he was off to South America. 

This sketch is lengthening out at such a rate, that the 
reader must pardon us, if we hurry over some scenes, 
that we would fain have described more fully. The first 
of these is a hop at Bryn Mawr, in the beginning of Sep- 
tember, after all have returned from Bar Harbor. What 
pleasure the regular frequenter has in these hops ; a floor 
as near perfection as anything human art can contrive; 
for the carpet there allows you to glide as easily as any 
waxed floor, without the uncomfortable feeling that the 
latter gives to many, of not knowing whether the next 
step will be taken on it or in the air : Herzberg, of whom 
we have S]3oken, rolling out his bass notes in perfect time, 
and playing the most delightful music. Long windows 
opened to the floor, let in the refreshing air, or let you 
out for a walk, a flirtation, or ice water. It is perhaps 


156 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


as well we must hurry on ; for we could not do its fun 
and gayety justice, with its mozambiques, lancers danced 
by thirty-two in one set, rollicking galops, and then 
such waltzes. 

Gertie is in trouble again. She and Ned have a stand- 
ing engagement for a certain waltz whenever played. 
To-night, by mistake, she has also given this waltz by 
number to Van Etten. It is the last time she expects 
to see him for some time; but it is also about the first 
time she has seen Ned since her return. She is walking 
with the latter, who is angry at himself because he can- 
not keep away from her. Telling him about her diffi- 
culty, she hesitates as to whom to give it. This enrages 
him, for Ada Merton’s venomous shots have done their 
work. He exclaims, “Give it to him, then. As it will 
be so much more pleasant for all. I have heard of your 
behaviour at Bar Harbor, and congratulate you on your 
conquest.” He turns, vaults over the railing without a 
thought of the drop of a dozen feet, and is off in a des- 
perate hurry. His old way of working off his fury. 
Gertie too is angered, and dances almost every dance 
after that with Van Etten. A performance which we 
may be sure reaches Ned’s ears. 

Edythe has been sitting near one of the windows, 
watching the dancers. Strange to say, she has been 
alone most of the time. As she has declined to dance, 
one man after another has retired, surprised at her re- 
fusal. Jack, her faithful squire, is not here, and there 
is no other who, since her marriage, would give up a 
dance at such a place for her sake. Cissie coming up 
asks why she is not dancing. Edythe answers in a voice 


THAT GLISTENS. 


157 


so low no one else can hear, that Victor is displeased, be- 
cause she will not dance with a friend of his she despises. 
Not wishing to displease him more by dancing with 
others, when she has refused this one, she has given it up 
altogether for to-night. Jack at this momeut arrives. 
He, as she knows, has been tramping way off in the 
country after a dog for her. The dog, a cross between 
a setter and a spaniel, with the former’s size, but all the 
latter’s beauty in face, and long, brown, silky hair, 
springs upon her, and in every way his canine intelli- 
gence can suggest, shows that he is ready to welcome her 
as his mistress. It is one of those remarkable instanta- 
neous affections that dogs do sometimes show. She now 
will have a faithful servitor, even to death. Cissie asks 
what he is to be called. Edythe answers she don’t know. 

“As Jack gave him to you, why don’t you call him 
‘Jacobite?’” 

“ As he has some King Charles blood, that will be cap- 
ital, I shall do so.” So Jacobite he is named, and may 
he prove more fortunate than his namesakes. 

A little time afterwards Victor and Edythe are in 
one of the Germantown hare and hound hunts. They 
are in the lead; but he makes a mistake, which he does 
not discover till the rest are ahead of them. Nothing 
daunted, for both are superbly mounted, they dash on 
rapidly, cutting the others down. They near an awk- 
ward leap. It is not high, but drops decidedly on the 
other side into a narrow road with a steep bank opposite. 
Victor takes it; his horse just saving itself. Edythe’s, 
however, makes a little longer leap, and crashes into the 
bank. For a moment horse and rider lie there, with 


158 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


only faithful Jacobite barking over them. H6 has fol- 
lowed his mistress and is now calling for help as hard as 
he can. It soon comes. Edythe is scarcely hurt at all. 
Victor who has been called back, says to her, when they 
are alone, “ Why couldn’t you be more careful, you have 
made me lose all chance of this run.” Ada Merton 
by a lucky accident, manages to shorten the distance, 
and is in first, the winner. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


159 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The beauty and fashion of Philadelphia, or rather a 
large portion of it, is gathered at Belmont Park ; for the 
City Troop are giving the first of their races. Edythe, 
Gertie and Cissie are together, attended by a number of 
men. Jack and Victor are both to ride for the opening 
race for the Troop cup, entries for which are limited to 
members. Edythe finds time to say to Gertie, “ I won- 
der what has happened to Victor. Jack was very anxious 
to ride ‘ Bruce ’ (her horse) for the Captain’s cup. I think 
he would win ; but Victor said Bruce should not run, 
W’hy, I don’t know.” Gertie thought she could tell why, 
but didn’t. Bhe felt sure that not much love was lost 
between him and Jack. Edythe went on, “ Now Jack 
has no mount and I am so sorry. He wants to ride so 
much for it.” The bell rings, and one by one the 
troopers in their becoming uniforms bring their horses 
out for a warming gallop. Victor is a hot favorite, as 
his horse is a well known thoroughbred, which has won 
several races, while none of the others are better than 
good hacks. The odds have run as high as 5 to 1 on 
him against the field. As the flag drops on a capital 
start, every one is naturally interested in the first race. 
Victor soon brings his horse to the front to make the 
running. The gap between him and the field rapidly 
widens, he is safe to win hands down, and the spectators 
settle back disappointed but not surprised, when just at 


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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


the turn a gray streak flashes out from the ruck. It 
rapidly gains on the leader. Victor perfectly confident 
of winning, is only aroused to his danger by the cries of 
“Well ridden, Harden! well ridden !” Turning, he finds 
the gray at his bay’s haunches. He calls upon his horse, 
but too late. Jackdasheson,the winner by a neck. Cheer 
after cheer goes up for this brilliant piece of riding. The 
other races go ofi* quite w’ell. Some are close, others 
mere walk-overs. When Victor joins our party in the 
grand stand, it is naturally in anything but a pleasant 
humor. As he takes a seat by Gertie, she remarks, “ It 
is too bad Jack has no mount for the Captain’s cup. 
He is so anxious too, and rides so well.” 

Victor answers sarcastically “ As Paley would say, he 
is metaphorically crying ‘ A horse I a horse ! my king- 
dom for a horse 1’ ” 

“ Well, Richard got his horse.” 

“But still, was unsuccessful.” 

“ Jack isn’t hunchbacked, so he may do better.” Cissie 
breaks in, “ What is that?” 

“ I was saying how sorry I was that Jack was not to ride 
in the steeple chase.” 

“But he is ! Ned just told me.” 

“ What horse does he ride ?” 

“Which is it, Ned?” 

“ Paul Drinker was at a friend’s wedding Monday, 
and he has been at a wedding ever since, so his friends 
don’t think him in a fit condition to ride. Jack takes 
his horse.” 

“ Not Phoenix I” from Edythe. 

“The same.” 


THAT GLISTENS.. 


161 


‘‘Why, lie may kill him. That horse always bolts in 
a race, and generally manages to get rid of his rider. 
Jack is so unlucky with his riding.” 

“ Let us wish him better luck this time.” 

Apparently he is to have better luck, for Phoenix takes 
the first leaps in splendid form, and everything seems 
lovely. When just as Jack is about to lift him for the 
water jump, he swerves and dashes oflT. Quick as a flash 
Jack comes dowm on him with the curb he has insisted 
upon having. Phoenix is brought up standing, and is 
slowly forced back. J ust as he approaches the ditch. 
Jack digs both spurs into him and with a loud shout, forces 
him over, almost a standing leap. It is a gallant eflbrt, 
but just falls short. A struggle, an effort to gather him- 
self, a long stagger, and horse and man fall forward 
on the ground. Jack, who had taken his feet from the 
stirrups, is thrown clear, and in a moment is on his feet, 
brings his horse to his, is on his back and away. A 
long chase, yet he urges on the subdued and trembling 
animal. It is too far, he cannot make it, still every one 
cheers him for his pluck. When by a lucky accident 
both the others make a wrong turn. When they regain 
the course. Jack has all but overtaken them. Hurrah! 
He has reached them, and now begins a ding-dong con- 
test for the lead. First one and then the other shows to 
the fore. Jack comes to the front and then drops back. 
Once more the cry goes up “Well ridden Harden!” as 
by a well-timed rush he forces his horse’s nose by the 
leader and wins with a short head to spare. 

Edythe tries to bring Victor back to a good humor on 
their drive home. Knowing how much he relishes Bill’s 
11 


162 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


adventures, she relates one. One summer, while he was 
still a boy in college, he was visiting in the country. A 
riding party is arranged. Bill finding himself too early, 
takes his horse to where some of the girls are resting 
under a tree. Lazy as usual, he dismounts, stretching him- 
self at full length upon the ground. He, not wishing the 
trouble of holding his horse, gives the reins a turn around 
one foot. The horse readily grazes for a few minutes. 
Then finding he is not really hungry, decides to take a 
little gallop on his own account. Just as Bill comes to 
the point of one of his funniest stories, and is sitting up 
to give it more effect, his horse points the story in a far 
more amusing manner than any he could contrive, by 
jerking him out flat, and starting off down the road 
dragging him by this one foot. Bill makes a series of 
frantic grabs for the reins, but each time is jerked out 
straight and thrown back on his head. The dust is so 
thick that the rescuing party cannot see either horse or 
man, and at each step are afraid of stepping on him. 
There is no telling what might have happened, if the 
reins had not broken before any harm was done to 
anything but clothes. Bill was found half buried and 
wholly choked by the dust, which was at least half an 
inch thick all over his white riding trousers. On his 
face it had caked, and his coat was torn up the middle. 
Edythe laughed heartily at the recollection. Nothing, 
however, could bring a smile to Victor’s face. The time 
had gone by when she could drive away a frown at any 
time. When they reach home it is to receive the news 
that Dr. Dixon is dead, and the frown deepens. As 
Edythe takes oflT her wraps, he notices that she is wear- 


THAT GLISTENS. 


163 


ing the colors that Jack wore in the steeple chase. His 
smouldering fury at last breaks forth. 

“ You even dare wear his colorsl I knew you would 
rather he won than I ; but I didn’t believe you would 
openly show your shameful preference. Take them off! 
Take them off at once I say I” Edythe looks at him in 
astonishment, and declines to do so. Victor makes a stride 
toward her, exclaiming with an oath, “ You shall!” and 
tears them from her dress. He throws them on the floor, 
but has no time to trample them under foot as he in- 
tended. Jacobite, who has been watching him with an 
angry eye, ever since he began to speak in such furious 
tones, as he tore the ribbon away, sprang forward with an 
angry growl. Edythe calls him back, but too late. A 
heavy metallic ornament is on the table by Victor’s hand. 
In a moment he has hurled it at poor J acobite with all 
the venomous force, the thought that he too came from 
Harden, can lend his arm. It strikes the animal on the 
head, and with a single moan stretches him lifeless on 
the floor, a victim to his own fidelity and man’s mad 
jealousy. Edythe stoops over him with tears in her eyes, 
exclaiming, “Oh, Victor! how could you?” With a 
parting word, “ You prefer even his dog to your hus- 
band,” he hurries from the room. Rather sobered by 
the result of his fury, and perhaps somewhat ashamed of 
it too. Fortunately it turns out that the dog was only 
stunned, and by careful treatment recovers. As soon as 
he is well enough, Edythe wisely sends him to her 
mother’s out of harm’s way. 

Victor, when he married her, had been desperately in 
love; but it had since been growing cold day by day. 


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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


Before the marriage she had been sought after by more 
men than any other girl in society. It appealed to his 
pride and self-conceit to carry her off from so many 
rivals, as did also the thought of having so beautiful and 
accomplished a wife. Since then she had been in bad 
health, had lost some of her beauty in consequence, and 
he had not been able to show her off to his friends as he 
wished. Then he had not the incentive of striving with 
others for her love. He knew it was entirely his ; his 
words of a few minutes before to the contrary not- 
withstanding. Besides, Ada Merton was near him, with 
her dangerous fascinations, ever ready to enchant him ; 
coy when he was bold ; bold when he was not so ; always 
careful to have a string of admirers at her beck and 
call, so as to furnish the same attraction that Edythe 
formerly had done. Steadily and too rapidly Victor 
was drifting, whither? Time alone can tell. 

Everything is at sixes and sevens. The breach be- 
tween Ned and Gertie has become so wide that nothing 
short of a convulsion of nature seems strong enough to 
bring them together. While Bill Paley is away in 
South America, so that even light-hearted Cissie has 
cause to feel blue. Remarkable accounts have been 
coming to Philadelphia as to what he has achieved in 
the way of emancipation. He had liberated all the 
slaves upon his plantations. In consequence of which 
Horn Pedro had summoned him to Court. He then de- 
vised a scheme by which all the slaves would become 
free in seven years, and succeeded in having it made a 
law, so much pleased was the Emperor by his amusing 
ways and by the ability he showed. Cissie, though proud 


THAT GLISTENS. 


165 


of what he had done and glad that it was she, who had 
led to his going there, said to Edythe, “ Yes, I sent him 
away. Yet sometimes I feel sorry I did so. Not a word 
has he written to me, and I very much fear that he may 
change his mind. If I could only see him for an instant 
or have a line from him to say that he still feels the 
same, I should be so glad. I never knew that I loved 
him, till I was afraid of losing him. I cannot do with- 
out him.” So Bilks perseverance is likely to win, 
though it is highly probable he will be sorry for it 
when he comes home. 


166 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


CHAPTER XX. 

The sun has been pouring down with a tropical force 
upon the streets of Rio Janeiro, this Christmas Eve. 
So hot has it been, that even the busy tribe of shop-goers 
has been forced to suspend operations throughout most 
of the day. But now, as the sun has only a few hours 
longer in the sky, and a blessed cloud passes before it, 
they pour from every side, eager to complete their list 
of gifts for the morrow. Elbowing his way through the 
crowd, observing all with a merry twinkle in his eye, 
comes our friend. Bill Paley. His own Christmas shop- 
ping has been done and all sent off weeks before. The 
joy in every face, the merry jests of passing acquaint- 
ances, bring back to him his home and make him long 
to see it again. Why should he not ? His work here is 
about done. He knows that the Emperor will want him 
to stay, to help in working out the details of his plan for 
Emancipation. Yet he can come back for that, if on 
further thought it should seem necessary. The Alcasar is 
before him and he drops in to think it over. Rio Janei- 
ro’s favorite Opera Boufe Actress is treading the boards, 
so all the seats near the stage are occupied, in fact, every 
seat in the cafe seems to be taken. Off in a corner 
there still remains one. A rough looking man is on the 
other side of the table, which is just large enough for two. 
Paley makes some passing remark which the other answers 
in a gruff voice, and with a bad accent, seemingly Eng- 




THAT GLISTENS. 167 

lish. Bill is rather surprised at this exhibition of rudeness ; 
for all he had done was required by Brazilian etiquette. 
Calling for a light wine, he lights a cigarette and begins 
to hum an old favorite of his, of course in English. It 
may be that he sang out of tune, for it seemed to annoy 
his table companion, who looks up at him with an 
expression of impatience. This does not affect Bill 
much, who goes on with his song, and when it is through 
begins another. This is too much, and the other takes 
his departure in very short order. With a smile Paley 
dismisses all thought of him and goes on with his inward 
debate. He is rapidly coming to the conclusion that he 
might as well sail by the next steamer, when the sun 
comes out from behind the cloud, and the sparkle of 
something bright catches his eye. Looking again, he 
sees it is the brass mountings of a hand-bag, by the other 
side of the table. After a few moment’s contemplation, 
for some undefined reason, betakes the trouble to get up, 
walk around and pick it up. The catch is insecurely 
fastened, so the satchel opens, as he lifts it, spilling out 
a number of papers. With a curse on his curiosity, he 
stoops to pick them up and idly glances at them. 
They prove somewhat interesting, and he carefully puts 
them away, not in the satchel, but in his own pocket. A 
friend joins him, and, though he tries hard, cannot per- 
suade him to give up his intention of returning. A few 
days more see him on his way to England, which he finds 
is the quickest way home. 

This same evening Edythe has gone home to spend 
Christmas with her mother, where Victor is to join them 
afterward. It is just at dusk, and he is sitting bent over, 


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ALL IS NOT GOLD 


staring at the wood fire as it shoots up in fitful flashes ; 
in its apparent irresolution and indecision, a fitting 
emblem of the burning cauldron of passion which is 
seething and bubbling within him. Perplexity knits his 
brow. His mind is engaged with a series of pictures 
furnished him by memory and imagination. On the 
one hand is Ada Merton, more fascinating than ever, 
drawing him on step by step. On the other Edythe, as 
he had first known her, happy, beloved and worthy to be 
both. Then followed a number of scenes, now with one 
as a centre figure, now with the other. In each Miss 
Merton charms him, Edythe disappoints him, more and 
more. How different from what he thought her the 
latter had proved to be I How blind he must have been 
to prefer her ! What a bad bargain, what a mess he had 
made of it. “ Yes, by Jove ! I’ll do it! ” and he half rises 
from his chair. When out of the flames he seems to see 
Bessie’s childish eyes looking reproachfully at him. He 
drops back. How could he ever think of them again ; 
should he do it ? Their innocent love would be turned 
to fear and aversion. They would haunt him ever after. 
Could he destroy the sweetest memory of his life? 
Deceive and betray the trust of her uncle? Slowly 
the thought of darling little Bess drives all else away. 
He is lost in dreams of her, of the old Kentucky home, 
and of what he might have been, had she lived. AVith 
such a sister always at his side, how could he go wrong? 
She would have taken an interest in all he did, would 
have helped him out of all his scrapes and been his con- 
fidante, scolding him and petting him at the same time. 
She would have believed in him far more thoroughly. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


169 


than he did in himself. Then to hear her praise and see 
her happy look at each success he achieved, would have 
urged him on to make good use of the opportunities he 
had never lacked. Mournful recollections of his wasted 
youth and early manhood came crowding back upon him. 
What would he not give to live the last ten years of his 
life again? Too late! That bitter thought ne’er came 
to any one with greater strength than now. But no ! It 
shall not be too late! He will retrace his steps ! he will 
do what is right ! he will become an upright honorable 
man ! and nothing again shall make Bessie sorrow for 
him. 

With stealthy step, the noiseless, well-trained butler 
enters, one might almost say in the black livery of Satan, 
and in a moment the lights are lit. With the cold glare 
of the gas, comes a sudden revulsion of feeling. Ada 
Merton appears to his excited fancy, tenfold more lovely. 
How mawkishly sentimental he is becoming! One might 
think he was an old woman, or a miss in her teens la- 
menting over the downfall of her favorite hero. He 
laughs an unmirthful laugh. In an instant he has risen, 
hurried to a writing desk and dashed off a note. He has 
just time to reach the Merton’s for dinner, as he had 
half promised. On his way he drops the letter in a box. 
Just as soon as it has left his hand he would give all he 
had to recover it. He even meditates attempting an as- 
sault upon the box ; but as that is impracticable, he passes 
on and soon forgets his momentary regret in the enjoy- 
ment of the subtle poison, that is insinuating itself into 
his very life-blood. 

Why is there not some special providence to prevent 


170 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


such letters from reaching their destination ? Many a 
harmless note goes astray. Yet let there be any harm that 
can be done by one, it will surely arrive on time. This is 
no exception. Why is the postman honest and careful? 
Why when a box within a block is broken open, is this 
left untouched? The note next to it is mislaid in the hurry 
andbustleof a Christmas mail; while. this one escapes to 
reach its destination in safety. 

At the Saxon’s, Victor is scarcely missed. Jack and 
. Gertie have come to join them at dinner, and she and Ned 
have made a truce for the evening ; so it seems like old 
times again. Edythe has not been as gay for months. 
Jack’s bad luck culminated with her wedding, and fortune 
tired of buffeting him about, had begun to favor him. 
All he undertook now was successful, and to-night he 
had Edythe to himself, so naturally he was happy. 
Even Mrs. Saxon seemed so lively and so young, that 
Edythe said she must be “ fey.” In merry talk they 
stayed, till they could wish each other “ Merry Christ- 
mas.” The night waxed very old before, with regrets 
that so pleasant an evening had been so short, Gertie 
and Jack took their leave. 


THAT GLISTENS, 


171 


CHAPTER XXL 

It is late the next day before Mrs. Saxon and Edythe 
have their breakfast. When it is finished, they turn 
their attention to the mail, which brings many an afiec- 
tionate remembrance. At last Edythe opens an en- 
velope addressed in Victor’s well-known writing. As 
she reads, her face grows deadly pale, the room seems to 
swim. For a moment she is dazed, then with a cry of 
“Jack’s warning ! That dream ! ” she throws herself on 
her knees, burying her face in her mother’s lap and 
bursts into tears. Mrs. Saxon takes the letter she threw 
down and reads: 

Dear Edythe, 

I have just discovered that we made a bad blunder. Our 
marriage w^as not legal. The laws of Kentucky require 
a license to be taken out, and through some oversight it 
. was not done. As we have not been able to hit it off 
very well together, I think you will agree with me, that 
there will be no need of your returning to my house. I 
shall have your things sent to you at your mother’s. 

Yours, etc., 

Victor Roland. 

P. S. Any allowance within reason which you will 
name I will give you. 

For an instant, she too cannot comprehend it. While 
her heart gives great leaps, striking against her bosom 


172 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


as if it would seek some escape from the dreadful truth. 
Then as the true meaning comes clearly before her mind, 
the hand that gently rests on Edythe’s dark tresses 
grows cold, while a fixed and glassy stare obscures her 
eyes. 

Edythe’s paroxysms of weeping becomes fainter and 
fainter and as if through a dense mist and far away in 
the distance she hears her canary singing away in a 
merry song, as though happiness and sorrow, honor and 
shame, life and death were naught to him, and then the 
whining of Jacobite, who seems to feel that something is 
\vrong. Then loud and clear above it all there seems to 
sound his song “At the Ferry.” It brings again to her 
that first evening but not as to one, who acted a part, 
but as to a stranger. She sees herself and wonders, who 
she can be. She hears the song and tries to think who 
the singer was. Then again it brings back the memory 
of that evening on the river. At last she realizes that 
she and Victor were the actors. It all comes back to 
her “ Love will last forevermore ! ” Aye ! how true that 
w^as ! A few short months and all his had passed away. 
How false the man, who could, with those few cold words, 
announce the destruction of het whole life without the 
slightest regret or shame for his part in it. Could she 
ever have loved him ? Preferred him to Jack, her noble, 
chivalric Jack, the very soul of honor? Never! She 
must have been dreaming, it must all be but a horrid 
nightmare. Then she tastes a sickly flavor of blood 
and with a sinking heart she knows it to be true. 
Why this dreadful silence? Why don’t her mother 
speak? Has she no word for her daughter now? 


THAT GLISTENS. 


173 


Will she too despise and cast her off as all the 
world will? “Mother! Mother!” is her agonized 
cry. In despair she catches her hands. Their deadly 
chill she feels not. Looking up appealingly to her face, 
she meets only that stony stare. “Mother! Mother! 
don’t look at me like that ! It was not my fault ! Mother 
won’t you speak to me? I am still your daughter, still 
the Edythe you loved so well. Oh Mother ! ” and she 
falls back. Blessed unconsciousness has come to relieve 
her anguish and save her reason. 

Outside the dog still whines, sniffing at the air and 
impatient of restraint. Why don’t his mistress or the 
other silver-haired lady come to let him loose. Is he 
altogether forgotten? Outside the merry Christmas 
chimes are ringing to summon all sorts and conditions of 
men to give thanks for the birth of a Saviour. Outside 
a poor boy hurries by bearing a turkey almost as big as 
himself. Outside kindhearted wealth is extending its 
charity, rendered still more kind-hearted by the bright, 
crisp morning and by the joyous “ Merry Christmas ” of 
more than one passing acquaintance. All young and 
old are affected by the mirth and jollity that is floating 
in the air. The school girls laugh at some teasing jest; 
the millionaire thinks of some noble work he is about to 
do, happy in his self-righteousness ; the workingman of 
the new gown with which he is going to surprise his Mary 
— none have time for what is passing only a few feet 
away. A minister passes with dignified step on his way 
to preach of God’s mercy and all-pervading providence. 
Little does he dream that behind that curtained window 
is an instance he would find hard to explain, that there 


174 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


his ministrations are far more needed than in the stately 
pile, where he worships. Outside, all is bustle and 
gayety; inside, nothing save the stillness of four cold 
walls, no sound or sign of life to lighten them. It has 
become so appalling that even the bird was oppressed by 
it. After two or three appealing little calls he flutters 
mournfully to the bottom of his cage. Scattered about 
the room, unheeded are those kindly remembrances their 
friends have taken so much pleasure in sending. If 
their friends only knew what a scene they had witnessed. 
A few brief minutes alone have passed since they were 
opened each with an affectionate allusion. The minutes 
drag out their weary length. Will nothing break this 
awful stillness ? Alas no ! It is the stillness of death ! 

To the canary’s delight the silence is at last broken 
by Ned’s cheerful voice, ringing out loudly in a joyful 
song, as he dashes upstairs two at a time, in very wan- 
tonness of spirits. It is a long day since he has been so 
gay and happy, for fate seems at length to favor him. 
Gertie, he hears, has refused Van Etten and seems about 
to return to her old love. He pushes open the door, 
with a cheery “ Merry Christmas, Mother,” when what 
a scene meets his eye. At her mother’s feet lies Edythe, 
her whole appearance betokening unconsciousness ; while 
above, sitting coldly in her chair, is the form he loves so 
dearly. At the first glance he realizes all he has lost. 

* * ^ ^ if. 

Gertie fortunately arriving, at once takes charge. 
Fortunately for Ned thinking both mother and sister 
dead, sits in stolid silence, heeding nothing and deeming 


THAT GLISTENS. 


175 


everything, useless; while the frightened and weeping 
servants are gathered upon the stairs, willing but know- 
ing not w’'hat to do. She at once sends for the Doctor 
and has Edy the removed to her room, where such restor- 
atives as she can think of are applied. Ned obedient to 
her entreaty retires to his room. As she is about to 
leave the scene of this heart-rending tragedy, to go to 
Edythe, the letter attracts her attention. A glance at it 
and she understands all. Her first impulse is to throw 
it in the fire ; but something checks her, and she puts it 
in her pocket, resolving to give it to Jack, for whom 
she has sent. As soon as Edythe shows signs of return- 
ing life, she remains alone with the Doctor, sending the 
servants from the room, for she dreads what they might 
learn from her first words. The dangerous period is 
passed without her showing any signs of recollection, and 
she falls into a deep sleep, produced by some narcotic. 
Gertie then sends for Jack, who has been with Ned. 
They ask simultaneously for each other’s patients. 

‘^Ned is in a frightful state; he will do nothing but sit 
staring at the fire, without a word, without a tear. How 
I wish he would cry ! This silent grief is by far the worst. 
If only I could find anything to change the current of his 
thoughts, to distract his attention. I am almost afraid 
to leave him alone. Could you not see him? It might 
be just what he needs.” 

“ If I thought that, I would gladly ; but I have be- 
haved so badly to him, that it would do more harm than 
good.” 

“ I don’t think so. But you — ^you look worn out, and 
no wonder. No! you had better not go through an- 


176 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


other trying scene. Should you give out, I don’t know 
what we would do. Well, I shall have to try once 
more to make him think of something else.” 

“ Stay a moment ; I can help you do that. He must 
be told sooner or later, and this may be the best 
time. Bead that?” She hands him Victor’s letter. 
A dangerous light comes into his eyes, and it takes 
a strong effort to enable him to command himself. 
That iron will is almost worn out in the struggle 
against the grief he feels, as deeply as any other 
of them. 

With I shall show it to him,” he goes up again. 
Ned pays no attention as he takes a chair by his side. 
“Ned there are others to think of now. Edythe must 
be cared for, and she has far more to pain and grieve 
her than even you have.” Ned shakes his head, bow- 
ing it still lower. “You must prepare yourself for an- 
other shock. Act the man. There is work to be done. 
Don’t sit brooding here in this womanish fashion. It is 
unlike you. Listen to me. No, first read this.” And 
once again that cruel letter discloses its writer’s das- 
tardly purpose. Gertie was indeed right. It did change 
the current of his thoughts. Springing to his feet, he 
paces the floor in angry vehemence ; exclaiming from 
time to time, “ The scoundrel ! the cowardly villain ! 
would that I had him here ! I’d strangle him ! ” with 
many more of the same kind. After a while, growing 
quieter, his thoughts turn from Victor to his victim. 
“Poor Edythe, how will she bear this? She was so 
bright and so happy, and now to lose her mother and 
her name at once. May all the curses of hell light on 


THAT GLISTENS. 


177 


the hand that struck this blow ! ” and flinging the letter 
from him as though it were a scorpion, he threw himself 
on the bed — the strong man crying like a child. And 
never was that sad sound heard by gladder ears than 
Jack’s. He knew full well its healing virtue, that noth- 
ing else can have. How difierently those two men bore 
their sorrows. The one a giant in strength and in en- 
durance, where bodily power would avail, had broken 
down at once under the mental shock. The other as 
weak and insignificant physically as Ned was strong, bore 
up under the blow with a calmness and self-command 
that seemed to defy fate to do its worst. It must not be 
thought that this was because of any lack of feeling. 
No! Mrs Saxon’s death he felt, as we have said, as 
deeply as any of them ; while his grief for Edythe’s po- 
sition was by far the most severe. To the others he held 
out the hope that it might not be true, that Victor might 
have lied. For himself he had no such hope. He felt 
that it was all, alas, too true. He undertakes also the 
task of interviewing Victor, in hopes that he may be 
able to arrange with him so that Edythe shall not sufier 
in the world’s opinion. 

Victor proved stubborn and hard to deal with. At 
first he declined decidedly to speak with Jack upon the 
subject ; and though he persevered with wonderful pa- 
tience under the insults that were heaped upon him and 
her, yet he was only able to obtain from Victor the un- 
satisfactory answer that he would probably not mention 
the subject for a few days. As he left him he received 
a telegram from Kentucky, which could not have been 
reassuring ; for if possible the sadness of his face grew 
12 


178 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


deeper. Well might he look sad — ^he was on his way to 
hid farewell to the mortal remains of her he had loved 
almost as a mother, for he had never, known his own. 
Edythe and Ned have left their last kisses on the wax- 
like lips of the dead. The white-haired pastor, they 
loved so well, has come to perform the last rites over 
her, whom as a child he had admitted to the Church, 
whom later in life he had united to the man of her 
choice, and whose children he had baptized and con- 
firmed. He reads the beautiful words of the service in a 
voice broken by the memories that are awakened within. 
Another of those he has known and loved throughout 
his fifty years of service among us, is about to join the 
many whom loving hands and loving hearts have laid to 
rest. In a grave overlooking that lovely river, where so 
much joy and life can be seen, Mrs. Saxon finds her 
resting place in God’s acre. In very truth in the midst 
of life we are in death. Below, is the Park with its 
throngs of passing carriages laden with men and women, 
toiling, sorrowing or laughing in this world of cares; 
above, the peaceful City of the Dead, where so many find 
their long wished for rest and happiness. All the many 
friends and kinsfolk have gone, and only Jack and 
Gertie remain to share her children’s grief. It is well 
they are there, for Ned and Edythe would have had no 
thought of time. In a silence almost appalling they 
drive home. What a different meaning had that word 
now, when she, who made it all in all to them, is there no 
more ! Edythe can no longer find there love and sym- 
pathy in all her joys and sorrows. Her mother, how 
sadly the word sounds now, who knew her every tb'^ught, 


THAT GLISTENS, 


179 


was there no longer, to show her what is wrong, to guide 
her to the right. None else could know how she had 
guarded her, how protected from all the evil that 
lurks at each turn of our lives. And what had been the 
result ? Edy the sorrowed far more bitterly for all her 
mother’s wasted care and energy, than what she must 
suffer from Victor’s selfish villainy. 

Ned, looking back into the far distance, thinks of his 
mother, from the first moment he can remember, as his 
ideal of all that was good and holy. How proud he had 
been when for the first time he had lent her his shoul- 
der, and she had said he should be her little staff and 
support. How he had tried to live up to it when his 
father died. He feared it had only been to fail. She 
had been so proud of all his successes, whether in studies 
or in athletics, which were too often he thought in the 
latter alone. She had been interested in whatever 
pleased him. Alas ! he had not been the son he should 
have been. Too often he feared he had given that lov- 
ing heart pain, which her countenance would not betray. 
He had too often repaid her affectionate care with sorrow 
and disappointment, and now it was too late to repair 
his errors. She was gone, from whom he had never 
heard an unkind word. May she see from above what 
was in his heart. Ned was lost in remorseful memories. 
Then a thought of Edythe came to him, and for the first 
time rebellious thoughts rose in his mind. Was it a 
just, was it a righteous Providence which would strike 
down a mother just when her daughter stood most in 
need of her, and yet let the one who had wrought all 
this harm go free? No! It could not be right nor just 


180 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


that such a man should live. He — Their door is reached 
and as Jack says farewell, he tells Ned, ‘‘I have just re- 
ceived an answer to my telegram. The County Clerk’s 

Office at R was burnt to the ground a few weeks 

ago. All the records were destroyed, so our last hope is 
gone.” The clouds seem to be closing in around them 
so densely that no escape seems possible. Well may 
that evening be passed in the depths of profound gloom. 
Well may Gertie (for Edythe thinks of her mother alone) 
exclaim, ‘‘My God, is there no way out of our despair?” 




THAT GLISTENS. 


181 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Orion, master of the winter sky, is shining resplendent 
this cool, sharp evening. His ever open eye looks down 
on the great city with all its depths of squalid misery 
and heights of noble ambition. It casts but a hurried 
glance at Alaska Street, with its crowds of dirty men and 
women huddled together in an abomination of filth and 
crime ; the latter, alas ! not confined within its narrow 
precincts. It dwells contendly upon the numberless 
spires that faith has raised to glorify its Maker. Almost 
obscured by the dazzling electricity, it can make out but 
little of the gilded vice in the city’s centre, and hurrying 
on rests for an instant only on the huge pile, where the 
millions of a people, foolish and befooled, has been squan- 
dered on useless and magnificent ugliness. Then it 
changes its course. Turning to where Holy Trinity 
raises its stately tower above a mass of velvet- like turf 
and fine old trees ; it is in the heart of the social world. 
Our journey in its company is almost ended. Yet we 
shall take one more glance. In sorrow it looks in through 
the window at where Edythe lies sleeping. Worn out 
by all she has undergone, she slumbers at last, yet the 
pillows are drenched with tears. A form, typical of its 
own, is descending the stairs ; the door has closed behind 
him. It hurries on before, to a handsome house on the 
most fashionable highway of the city; where, though its 
feeble rays are extinguished by the gas light streaming 
from the windows, it waits to see — what we shall see. 


182 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


AYithin, a jolly half-dozen of Victor’s boon companions 
are gathered at his board. The occasion is a small stag 
supper, that he had lost to one of them. Though the 
winner had proposed to postpone it, on account of Mrs. 
Saxon’s death, Victor would not hear of it. The supper 
is over — and some one proposes — and all agree that each 
in turn shall sing a song or tell a story. The mirth grows 
fast and furious. Story and song follow in quick suc- 
cession, each accompanied by the opening of a fresh 
bottle. Most of them, we fear, would scarcely bear re- 
petition in a drawing-room, so we shall not give them 
here. Victor’s turn coming, they all call on him for a 
song of his own composition, as he has quite a knack of 
knocking them off, as he terms it. “ All right, fellows ! 
Here’s one that I wrote for this evening. As none of you 
are married, you can give the chorus with a will.” 


victor’s song. 

While I’ve life. I’ll sing, drink and play, 
As none but a Benedict can ; 

For who can be frank, free and gay, 

Tied down as a young married man ? 
Out-talked by his saucy wife 
In every domestic strife, 

A poor sorry fool is he. 

Chorus : 

Married men must early to bed, 

And ne’er late at the club can be. 
We’ll sing and drink in their stead, 
Such merry, merry bachelors we. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


183 


As so grateful a freedom is oui's, 

Why give it up for but one 
Of the smiles, that on us beauty showers? 

Since now they all can be won. 
ril never wed a wife ; 

But all throughout my life, 

A jolly bachelor be. 

Chorus; 

Married men must early to bed, 

And ne’er late at the club can be. 

We’ll flirt and we’ll drink in their steady 
And merry, merry bachelors be. 

Amid the applause that greets this effort, one of his 
neighbors remarks to Victor, “ That’s pretty good for a 
man six months married. We might think, if we didn’t 
know you, that you were a grass widower.” Victor, his 
tongue loosened by wine, is just about to answer, and 
there is no knowing what he might have said, when the 
butler tells him that Mr. Saxon is in the drawing-room, 
and won’t go away without seeing him. 

Did you tell him I had company ? ” 

“Indeed I did, sir. But he says he has something so 
important to say to you, sir, that he will come up here, if 
you won’t go down to him, sir.” 

“Tell him to do it then ; or no! stay! I’ll go down 
and see what it is he wants.” When he enters the room, 
Ned’s face for an instant flames up with angry color, 
then cools down into a hard set look, but there is danger 
in his eye as he mutters, “ I must keep cool for Edythe’s 
sake.” He speaks as if each word was uttered only by the 
exercise of the strongest will, and parting with each cost 


184 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


him dear. “ I have come to ask, whether you will marry 
my sister. A separation will take place at once. You 
shall have no further trouble.” 

“No! A thousand times no! I have given her one 
trial and that is quite enough. So she has sent the dear 
brother round to smooth things over. Now she will be 
the one to eat humble pie. I have shown her who is 
master. Now she shall come cringing and fawning back 
to where she thought she ruled. Ah, no ! She shall find 
I am not the fool she took me for.” 

Trembling with fury, yet speaking in a tone, that is 
calmness itself to the tempest within, Ned says, “She has 
found you the most cowardly villian and unmitigated 
scoundrel, and would not even look at you again. I 
came here without her knowledge. Since fair play can 
not induce you to do what is right. I command you to 
do it!” 

“ Oh ! You have come to threats,” the dutch courage 
supplied by liquor, rising within him. “‘One man may 
lead a horse to water, but twenty cannot make him drink.» 
I care not what you may do.” 

“ Think once more. I give you one more chance,” in 
a determined tone. 

“ How kind that is ! So the roistering brother has come 
down from his high horse. He roars and blusters no 
longer.” 

“You absolutely refuse?” demanded Ned, his rage 
rapidly rising. * 

“ Absolutely, and nothing you could do would make 
me. By the way, tell that fool of a Harden that he has 
my permission to marry her now, as he was so anxious 


THAT GLISTENS. 


185 


to before. He had better not try again to get ahead of 
his betters. Let this be a lesson to him. Tell him, too, 
I shall keep still no longer. I don’t intend to remain 
a bachelor, and I have found some one, who will make 
a wife, worth a dozen of such goody-goody namby-pamby 
prudes as your sister and his sweetheart. She will not 
be quite so much of a stuck-up prude as she used to 
be. The world will have its own thoughts about her po- 
sition. I bequeath to him, tell him, my — ” 

By God ! that word bequeath shall be truer than you 
meant!” exclaimed Ned, ■whose temper, held under con- 
trol as long as his insults were for him alone, burst forth 
in a mighty torrent when his sister’s name was brought in. 
“ You have done all the harm you shall in this world.” 
A report, and Victor falls at his feet without a word. 
Ned bends over him to see that his bullet has done its 
work. Then as the servants and friends rush in, he 
hands over the still smoking weapon to one of them, asks 
that the police and Jack be at once notified and then re- 
lapses into silence. 

A short time suffices for Jack to hunt up a magis- 
trate. Waiving an examination, Ned is held in bail 
for a large sum, which Mr. Tremont readily furnishes. 
As the two friends enter a hack, alone together at last, Ned 
appeals to Jack, “Don’t blame me, Jack!” I could 
not bear it from you and I had to do it.” 

“Blame you! How could I? Why my only regret is 
you shot him. It was too honorable a death for such a 
villain. He should have been hung, drawn and quart- 
ered at the very least. And so the world will think, 
when they know all.” 


186 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“They must not know all.’’ 

“What do you mean?” 

“No one must know of the existence of that letter. 
You must destroy it.” 

“ Do you realize what that means ? I am afraid I 
cannot serve you without it. They will hang you. Ned 
I must use it.” 

“ Ever since in a moment of rage I shot him, I have 
been thinking about it. For one instant I regretted it, 
fearing it might bring out the dreadful truth ; but for 
an instant only. Then I was glad, for the secret has 
perished with him. I have thought it all out. I can 
die but once, and when better? I still have the love 
and respect of the few friends I care for. I shall not 
see them one by one drop from my side, till I too grow 
heart-sick and long for the hour, that will take me to 
them. Then, Jack, I shall go to join Mother with a 
feeling that I have done my duty as she would have 
wished. Could I have a better cause in which to fall, 
than in avenging a sister’s wrongs? If that letter is de- 
stroyed, Edythe will still be respected and honored, as 
she is loved. In time with you to care for her, her life 
will be happy. While I shudder at the thought of what 
it must be, if all is known. The earth has not a corner, 
in which the shameful story would not seek her out. 
Every wind, that blew to waft her to some foreign 
shore, would bear with it the baneful breath of the scan- 
dal. If I live, it will be at the expense of her happiness, 
aye it would almost seem her honor. No ! no ! I could 
not do it ! I could not do it ! ” Then after a short pause, 
“ Better far of us two, that I should die now by a short 


THAT GLISTENS. 


187 


and comparatively painless death, than that she, so love- 
ly, so true, so deserving to be happy, should drag out a 
weary, tortured existence, or what is far more likely to 
see her gradually waste away before our eyes, suffering 
agonies untold, which we could not relieve and to feel 
that every sigh, every moan, that escapes her lips, was 
born of my selfishness. I would be her murderer. Jack, 
think of yourself in my place and you cannot urge 
me to another course.” Jack was silent ; but a clasp 
of the hand expressed what he could not put in words. 

As they alight and enter the house, Gertie meets them, 
and, forgetful of all that has passed between them, all 
their quarrels, or perhaps because of her part in bringing 
them about, rushes up to Ned and throws her arms around 
his neck, exclaiming, “ I have heard about it all. How 
brave of you ! I am sure all must be well now, since he 
is dead.” Ned looks down into her eyes with a regretful 
expression in his own and stooping over leaves one kiss 
upon her lips ; then with, “ Tell her Jack. I cannot.” 
dashes up stairs. Turning to Jack with a frightened 
look, she asks hurriedly, “What is the matter? Has 
any new trouble befallen him ? ” Jack answers in a tone 
that sounds harsh and indiflferent, so severe is the struggle 
for self-command. This new trouble is too much. He 
knows that, if he gives way at all to his feelings, he must 
break down completely. His forced w^ords sound almost, 
as though he were trying to make a jest of the matter. 
“It is but a sequel to the old. Ned is too honorable to 
attempt an escape, and I doubt if he could succeed, should 
he try.” 

“ What should he want to escape for ? ” 


188 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“ In our enlightened state, a man, who kills another, 
generally has to pay the penalty.’^ 

“Surely you don’t think they would punish Ned, for 
shooting a man, who behaved like Roland ? ” 

“ They won’t know anything of his behavior. Ned 
won’t have that letter made public or even mentioned.” 

“ You can’t mean that. I don’t know much about 
law; but I should suppose, if one man kills^ another 
without any reason, they would hang him.” Gertie 
scarcely knows what she says. 

“ They are apt to.” 

“Oh Jack! What are you saying? You cannot be 
a friend of his to talk that way. You must use that 
letter, whether Ned is willing or not.” 

“ He has convinced me that it will be better not to.” 
His manner grows even more hard and cold from the 
strain upon him. 

“Nonsense! I never heard of such a thing! Here 
you are, who pretend to be his dearest friend, coolly 
standing by, while he proposes to kill himself and forsooth 
you say, that he convinced you it will be better so. 
Sooner than see my friend destroy himself because of a 
fanciful scruple, I’d ” 

“ Do you call, being unwilling to wreck the happiness 
and life of a sister, a fanciful scruple?” exclaimed Jack, 
glad to find some vent for his emotion. 

“ So that is why you are convinced so easily. It is not 
that you love the brother less, but the sister more. I un- 
derstand you now, Signior False Friend. It will do no 
good to argue with you, so I bid you good evening sans 
au revoir.” She turns her back on him and is gone. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


189 


Though hurt that such a construction should be put upon 
his actions, Jack’s resolve was too firm to be shaken by 
her insinuations. 

Gertie is perplexed, as she sits alone way in the night, 
thinking of what is best to be done. Her mind is distracted 
too by recollections of what Ned has been to her all his 
life, since as children, he fought her battles for her and was 
her constant playmate. How he used to tyrannize over 
her ; but woe to any one else who triedit. Among many 
another comes the memory of that day after she had 
read Quentin Durward to him, when he insisted on wear- 
ing a handkerchief of hers tied around his arm. How 
old and torn and dirty it was, too, yet nothing could in- 
duce him to take it off. Where was that handkerchief 
now? Did it still hold its position near his heart, 
where in his boyish pride, he had sworn it would stay 
till death. That word brought back the present with 
all its dreadful possibilities. What should she do ? To 
appeal to Ned were worse than useless. When once he 
had made up his mind to what was right, no one knew 
better that he could not be moved from his determina- 
tion. How exactly like him was the resolve to give his 
life for Edythe’s peace of mind ! How such an idea 
would take hold of his knightly nature ! Jack she might 
try again; but he too, she was sure, would think as Ned. 
They both had the same reverence for women, the 
same ideas, many of them, she thinks. Quixotic, about 
man’s duty toward them. No ! Jack would have done 
the same, if he had been in Ned’s place. She could 
do nothing with him. Edythe then was her last hope. 
It would be so hard too, to ask her to take a leading 


190 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


part in her own undoing. Could she think of no other 
way? But though she ponders until her eyes close 
against her will and her mind is so dazed that she can 
scarce think of even where she is, no other plan sug- 
gests itself. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A gentle knock might have been heard at the door of 
Ned’s den the next morning. “ Come in ! ” Gertie enters. 
In a broken voice she begins, “Ned, I have come to ask 
your pardon for all my cruel behavior tow^ard you ; and 
to tell you whatever may happen I shall always be with 
you, for I love you.” Putting her arms about his neck, 
“ Ned, you will grant me forgiveness, won’t you ? It was 
all the fault of my wicked nature, my fondness for teas- 
ing. Don’t say that I have destroyed all your love for 
me.” 

“Destroyed my love! You could not. And to 
have you come to me this way would earn forgiveness 
for the worst fault you could commit.” 

“I did treat you so abominably.” If Ned had con- 
tradicted her she would have continued her self-abase- 
ment; as he did not, it was not in her nature not to justify 


THAT GLISTENS. 


191 


herself in some small degree at least. “ You wronged 
me once, though.” 

How was that ? ” 

“ K you promise to behave yourself and not become 
too much excited over it, I will show you.” She opened 
a locket, that always hung about her neck, containing, 
as he knew, on one side the miniature of a brother, who 
died some years before, and on the other a lock of his hair. 
There with that self-same lock coiled round it lay the 
serpent ring he had given her. “ My hands became so 
thin I was afraid of losing it. I put it there just before 
you came that evening at Bryn Mawr, and it has been 
there ever since.” Need it be said Ned felt strong to 
bear anything now. 

When Edythe hears of Victor’s death she shows no 
sign of excitement or surprise. Nothing could surprise 
her now. After waiting in vain for some opening, which 
will enable her to introduce the subject uppermost in her 
mind, Gertie plunges in medias res. 

“ Edythe, do you know Jack and Ned won’t make 
public what was in Victor’s letter ? ” 

Boused a little by this welcome news, Edythe says in 
a tone that shows her thoughts are still far away, 
“Won’t they? I am glad of that.” 

“ Glad ! Why it is your duty to make them do it.” 
Edythe shrinks back as if the words hurt her. 

“ I don’t see why. It only means that they have found 
some other way out of our troubles. And oh Gertie ! 
you can’t know how much it means to me. Think of my 
position if they do show it. To see every one shrink 


192 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


back from me as though I had some loathsome disease. 
To feel myself the object of compassion, only to be 
tolerated out of charity. I could not bear it.’* 

With sorrow in her heart for the^pain she must inflict, 
Gertie goes on with growing excitement, “ And do you 
know what that way is ? It is over Ned’s dead body. 
To save you he will not raise a hand in his own defense. 
The court will convict and hang him before our very 
eyes, if that letter is not produced.” 

“Don’t say that ! Not that! ” exclaims Edythe, at last 
aroused from her lethargy, her eyes unnaturally bright 
with horror and excitement. 

“I wish I did not have to say it. But there is nothing 
else to be done. Jack agrees with Ned. It is all well 
enough for them to put us women on an altar and wor- 
ship us, in imagination, but when it comes to killing 
one’s self for us, it goes rather far ; and that is what they 
are doing. You, are the only one that can save Ned.” 

“How? I’ll do anything, only I cannot think what. 
Quick! Tell me! You must have some plan.” She 
grasps Gertie’s hand with terrific force, half mad from 
all she has undergone. 

“You must see Jack and make him make use of the 
letter. You have more influence with him than any one 
else, and in this case no one else could do anything. 
But first you must calm yourself. Lie down here, while 
I tell you what you must do, and in the meantime I 
shall send for him.” 

A few lines soon bring Jack to the house. After a 
brief wait, Edythe enters the room. All trace of excite- 
ment is gone and she begins calmly enough. “Jack, I 


THAT GLISTENS, 


193 


have sent for you to tell you, you must put my — Mr. 
Roland’s letter in evidence ; don’t shake your head, but 
listen to me. Do you think that I could ever be happy 
knowing that I had sacrificed my brother’s life to a mere 
selfish shrinking from what must be known sooner or 
later? You know too much of the world not to know, 
after you think about it, that such a secret as ours must 
become known, and that too, rapidly. There are others 
even now, who must know of it, and it could be dis- 
covered by any one who chose to investigate. We have 
furnished too interesting a theme for gossip for some one 
not to look it up. Still you are not convinced? Well 
my mind is made up. If you will not do it, I must. I 
shall appear in the court-room and demand an interview 
with the Judge. When he knows who I am, he will 
hear me. Then I shall lay the whole truth before him, 
and he shall see that justice is done. Ah Jack, you can 
save me all this degradation, how bitter no one can know 
better.” 

“God help me, if I do wrong ! Edythe, I will. You 
have conquered.” After a momentary pause, in sorrow 
he exclaims, “ But what a life you will lead ! ” 

“ Alas, yes ! Still others have borne as sorrowful and 
I must do it too,” sighing deeply. 

With a sudden fervor Jack steps forward and takes 
her cold hands in his. “ Why should you ? There must 
be some corner on this wide earth of ours, where such a 
misfortune does not leave a stain on its innocent victim. 
Let us seek it. Edythe, I need not tell you again that 
I love you. Nor do I ask for your love in return. Alas! 
it would be asking too much of a heart that has received 
13 


194 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


so rude, so cruel a shock to open in affection for another. 
It is for your own good, your own happiness. Trust 
yourself to me and I swear that no unkind word shall 
ever hurt you, no unkind act shall bring again the 
thought of this dreadful time. With Ned we shall go 
beyond the reach of prattling tongues, where once again 
Heaven may smile on us. We may again be happy.” 

Edythe for a few moments seems about to yield, then 
with a firm resolve she gently disengages herself, and in 
a voice choked with emotion, softly answers, “No, Jack, 
I like you far too well to allow you to bind yourself to 
such a miserable unfortunate as I ; to allow you on my 
account to leave the place, where are all your friends, 
all your associations, where you are honored and re- 
spected, to go somewhere where you would begin your 
life anew without ftiends, in obscurity such as you sug- 
gest.” 

“ No, life with you would be without friends, for you 
are my all. With you are all my associations, all my 
purposes. It is far more to me that you should be hon- 
ored and respected, than that I should achieve the 
greatest success. In marrying you, indeed, I would ob- 
tain that which would be the greatest, the object of all 
my ambition, for which I have labored, and without 
which all else will be vain. Give me deepest obscurity 
with you, a thousand times, rather than the most brilliant 
triumph without.” 

“Your wife should be a help-mate, not a drag. You 
should be proud of her.” 

“ And so I shall be of you. No other woman could 
ever compare with you.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


195 


“So you think now. The time would come when you 
would curse your folly in tying yourself to such a 
weight. Sooner than know that, for I would know it, 
try as hard as you might to conceal it, I would never see 
you again. No ! No ! Some day I shall hear of your 
marriage to a woman who is worthy of you ; and believe 
me, no one will be gladder than I. Do not urge me 
further, it is useless and I have more now than I can 
bear.” She clasps her hands to her head and staggers 
back on a lounge. At once he is kneeling at her feet, 
“Forgive me ! That I, who would gladly bear the worst 
of tortures that you should be free from pain, should 
add one jot to all that you have suffered, unfeeling, sel- 
fish brute that I am !” 

With an effort she controls herself. “I will not 
have you to call yourself names. Jack. It is our misfor- 
tune, not your fault. What woman would not be flat- 
tered at such an offer. Oh, why did I not know my 
heart before ?” Then fearing she has said too much, 
hastily leaves the room. 

The readers may think that our friends took an ex- 
aggerated view of how the world would treat 
Edythe. Let them think, though, that whenever there 
is the slightest cause for gossip, the woman bears all the 
blame, the man none ; that this runs through all the 
relations between them. Let them think of this and 
it will be seen that they did not exaggerate. It is sad 
to think that this should be so; but women have 
themselves chiefly to thank for it. How often they 
are heard to say, that a man’s a fool not to kiss a 
woman if she will let him! How much they prefer 


196 


ALL IS NOT OOLD 


a man whose reputation is that of an outrageous 
flirt, to the others generally far more worthy of pref- 
erence. Let this be so. Should that induce men of 
any character to take a cowardly advantage of woman’s 
weakness. Men claim to be the stronger sex. Why do 
they not show it then, in the noblest of forms, self com- 
mand ? Is it right for them to play the devil’s part of 
tempter ? Is it right that the tempted should bear 
the blame alone, pay the penalty for not being able to 
speak that word hardest to say. No f Is it fair ? Is it 
honorable? Is it manly? to go scot free, like the cold- 
hearted villian you become, while your innocent victim 
is writhing under the tortures of envious tongues. Let 
many an unhappy life, many a blasted reputation an- 
swer in trumpet tones NO ! When about to do some- 
thing that seems to you, and may be in itself trifling, 
think of the pain, of the trouble, of the anguish that 
may light on her, think that she is of your mother’s or 
your sister’s sex, then if you have so much as a spark 
of honor, manliness and true courage, in Heaven’s name 
don’t I 

Trouble is not confined to those at home alone. 
Far off on the broad Atlantic lies a steamer as help- 
less as the meanest of sailing vessels. Her powerful 
engines are still ; her propeller moves no more. A gale 
is expected. But the tale of storm and shipwreck has 
been so often written that we shall pass this by, only in- 
forming our readers that Bill Paley passed through 
the ordeal safely and courageously. He lands at length 
in England, little the worse bodily, and far better in 
the world’s opinion, for the trials he has undergone. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


197 


The few weeks before the trial pass slowly, and wear- 
ily. The day is at hand. The evidence of the prosecu- 
tion is brief and mainly confined to the motive. Jack 
has cross-examined only one of their witnesses. This one 
was Victor’s valet Gustave. On direct examination 
he testified that there was bad blood between them; 
that his master had said, Mr. Saxon thought he had 
cause to dislike him. Jack asked him whether this was 
in any way caused by a letter from Victor. The wit- 
ness answered yes, then no, he thought not and fin- 
ally that he was sure not. Jack watched him closely for 
a minute or two, but asked no more questions. Nothing 
else worthy of note took place till he rose to open the 
defense. He made no opening speech, ofiered Victor’s 
letter in evidence, which caused a great sensation, called 
a couple of witnesses to prove that Victor had written it 
and then addressed the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury: 
I presume my learned friend, the opposing counsel will 
impress upon you the fact that when you entered this 
box you swore to decide this case in accordance with the 
law and the facts. But you were men before you were 
jurors, and your very oath was taken under God’s law, 
to which you, as well as all mankind are subject, and 
of which our law is but a fallible exponent. A cardin- 
al principle of that law is to do unto others as you 
would be done by. Gentleman of the jury, I know 
that not one of you could leave this court with a feel- 
ing of duty well performed, a feeling of aught but 
shame, should you condemn the prisoner for doing what 
you and every one of us I hope would have done. If a 
burglar entered your house to steal even the least val- 


198 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


uable of your possessions, would you not be justified 
in, would you hesitate for an instant about shooting 
him? Should any one attempt then to rob you of 
what is a hundred fold more dear than the most prec- 
ious of your belongings could ever be, what would you 
do? Would you calmly allow him to get off with it 
without seeking to exact reparation? This was my 
client’s position. 

Go back with me only one short year. Picture to your- 
self his life, his happy home. Put yourself in his place. 
A mother and sister waiting to welcome you after a hard 
day’s labor. A mother, from whom you have never had 
an unkind word, rejoicing in your success, sympathizing 
in your failure. A sister, though beautiful and beloved, 
knowing none, who in her thoughts can compare with 
you; honoring, nay almost worshiping you. Both by 
every art that woman can achieve, seeking to afford you 
amusement and relaxation, striving to show their love 
and pride. The robber enters under the guise of 
smooth and oily manners. So charming in his beauty 
and accomplishments that he insinuates himself into your 
jealously guarded home-circle. You make him a wel- 
come guest, never dreaming of the contemptible treach- 
ery that lurks beneath those fascinating looks and 
tones. At last it strikes. With one blow this favored 
friend deprives your mother of the life you would 
gladly give your own to save, your sister of what is 
far, far, more dear. Was there ever a more righteous, a 
more justifiable vengeance? 

Some may say that vengeance should be left to the 
law. But there are some crimes so atrocious that our 


THAT GLISTENS. 


199 


law cannot deal with them. The remedy by dragging 
a fair name through the slime of a police court, would be 
more painful to a sensitive nature than the worst crime 
against her. No ! no ! It should not be done. It would 
be far more dishonorable to seek vengeance from the law 
than even to remain quiet, acquiescing in foul dishonor. 
Yet the one who could do this, is far too base, too cow- 
ardly to bear the name of man. And it is as man 
to man, not as lawyer to jurors, that I plead with you 
to uphold my friend in the blow that he has struck 
in what is to our race, and may it always be, the 
noblest of battles ! 

My friends, it is an awful thing to condemn a man to 
death, to send a soul to eternity, and he, who does so, 
should be sure that he is right, not assume such respon- 
sibility, with the slightest doubt upon his mind. Even 
then he should remember that it is better to err on the 
side of leniency than of severity, that justice should be 
tempered with mercy. If you will thiuk of this, and 
think at the same time of your mothers, beloved and 
honored, who have made you what you are ; of your 
sisters, who it may be, look upon you as their protectors, 
and then of your daughters growing up around you, 
lovely and delicate, who might sometime, though I sin- 
cerely hope not, stand in need of an avenger ; if you will 
keep this in mind, I shall cheerfully leave the decision in 
your hands, knowing that in your sound judgment lies 
his surest path to safety.” 

Jack has watched their expressions, has seen them one 
by one give unmistakable signs of acquiescence, so takes 
his seat with the utmost confidence, the utmost happi- 


200 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


ness. As he does so, the District Attorney, Mr. Collins, 
whose family has been mentioned before, comes over 
and offers to withdraw the prosecution. Jack thanked 
him, but said he thought Ned would be better satisfied 
by an acquittal. Mr. Collins declined to make an 
argument, and after a colorless charge, the jury ren- 
dered a verdict of Not ’Guilty without leaving their 
seats. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


201 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Ned and Gertie are to be married in a few months. 
So she remains in town to make her preparations ; while 
he and Edythe, wishing to leave for a little while the 
scenes that have become so painful to them, have 
gone once more to where they had spent such happy 
weeks two years before. Jack has accompanied them 
on their journey, but he is to return the next day. He 
and Edythe are wandering along the river. Lover’s Leap 
rising before them resplendent in the morning sun, its 
glorious blue bringing back many a sweet yet bitter 
memory. 

“Do you remember. Jack, the day we climbed that 
hill ? I could not do that now. Do you remember my 
saying, I did not understand how that Indian girl could 
destroy herself? I understand it now. Ah me ! I fear 
that if I were there and saw the river beneath, so dark 
and tempting, I, too, would make the leap and be at rest 
at last.” 

“Nonsense!” A transient look of pain just passing 
over his face. “You don’t know what you are saying. 
You have many happy hours before you.” 

“No! I was too happy. I feared it could not last. 
To every one sorrow must come sooner or later in 
some way or other. Now mine has come and I can- 
not bear it. Hardest of all to endure, is the world’s 
pity.” 


202 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


‘‘ Pity ! Envy it should rather be. Every woman 
should envy you, your character, your talents, and your 
beauty.” 

“ There are few, who think like you. Jack.” A pause 
during which both watch the boughs and leaves hurry- 
ing past on the troubled waters. Then she goes on. 
“ But then there are few men like you in every way. If 
there were more, how fortunate w'e women would be !” 

“That I am not worse than most men, is due to you 
alone, Edythe.” 

“Due to me? Why I have brought you nothing save 
pain and sadness. Jack.” 

“All the good there is in me was born of my love of 
you. How could I go wrong, with you ever near with 
your lofty thoughts and high ideals of life, your hatred 
of anything mean or low. When any temptation came 
in my way, I thought, ‘ What will Edythe think of this?’ 
And it vanished immediately. Though I never wed you, 
not once shall I regret my love for you. It has been my 
safeguard. It has given me most of my pleasure, and 
while hope lasted, not a moment of sadness. To love a 
noble woman can bring only good to any man and where, 
as I, he has no mother and no sister, it is by far the best 
thing that can happen to him. A man of ordinary char- 
acter is apt to be, I think, what his first love made him. 
If w'omen only knew how powerful for good they can be, 
fewer of them, I am sure, .would snub or laugh at their 
boy-lovers.” - 

“ Yes, you are right. Particularly as most men take 
to drink after such a disappointment. There again you 
showed your strength of character by not doing so.” 


THAT GLISTENS. 


203 


“ That was doubly due to you. My habits had by that 
time been formed by my friendship with you, and habit 
is an all powerful factor in such matters. Then you 
taught me to love riding, and I know of no worry so bad, 
that a tearing gallop on a spirited horse will not drive it 
away. To feel a generous animal bounding along be- 
neath you, his chest heaving, his ears pointed, nowfront^ 
now back, his nostrils quivering, his whole frame tremb- 
ling from excitement and elation — then to feel that 
thrill of secret sympathy that makes horse and rider one 
glorious whole. No ! There can be no thought so pain- 
ful, so heartrending as not to succumb to such a feel- 
ing. Horace could never have been a rider, for he wrote 
that much quoted but false line about dull care mounting 
behind you. Never! It could not I I know it too well. 
I could give it seven pounds in every mile and leave it 
far behind. You could do it too. It would be the 
very thing for you. You must try ” When sud- 

denly there comes a ru*sh with shouts of “ There he goes! ” 
“ He’s sinking ! ” “No! There he is again.” Out in 
mid-stream could just be seen the head of a gray-haired 
man, who seemed to be struggling vainly with the rapid 
current that swept him along. 

“ Come Jack ! There’s a boat just below. We must 
try to rescue him!” exclaims Ned coming up to them, 
and off they go at the top of their speed. It takes but 
a moment to unfasten the boat, and Ned’s strong arms 
soon send it along cutting the w^ater so swiftly, that at 
every instant it seems about to be dashed to pieces against 
the rocks that fill the river, now swollen by the spring 
rains into an angry, seething torrent. Jack just sue- 


204 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


ceeds in avoiding them ; good fortune favoring his skill. 
On they go, now grounding on a little shoal, now grinding 
the gunwale against a rock, the roundness of whose edge 
alone saves them from destruction. On ! and on! Nearer 
and nearer to him they draw. Another stroke and they 
will reach him. Now comes the dangerous moment. 
Should the current prove too strong for them, their boat 
may dash against him and that must mean his death. 
Ned backs with all his strength. To no purpose. The loss 
of headway makes the boat unmanageable in the face of 
that torrent, the rush of water sweeps it on, and Jack 
failing in his endeavor to pull him in, the bow passes 
over him. A murmer of dismay arises on the shore; 
then a shout of “ Take care 1 ” for all their energy is 
needed now to save themselves. They are driving with 
terrific force directly toward a jagged mass of rock that 
threatens to destroy them. Too late to stop her now. 
They both spring up, each with an oar, and as they drift 
broad-side on, attempt to break the force of the shock. 
They do, but break something else too. For their oars 
snap, they rest against the reef, keeling over from the 
W'eight of the water and their boat half fills, when a sud- 
den eddy whirls them far out into the stream. They are 
adrift without an oar, hurried on by the force of a furious 
flood. At a word from Jack, they stoop, tear the planks 
from the thw’arts and make a gallant effort to gain the 
shore. Another eddy aids them, and after a brief but 
exciting struggle they at last do so. When there, they 
explain it was all a mistake, they had well nigh lost 
their lives to save the lungs of a bullock some one had 
slaughtered up the stream, which had had the appear- 
ance of an old man’s head. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


205 


(To set at rest any doubts as to the probability of this, 
we wish to state that the author was present at one ex- 
actly similar occurrence.) 

J ack coming in one afternoon a week afterwards, finds 
Gertie deep in the mysteries of her trousseau. Patient 
waiting is no loss, they say. Jack tries hard to think so, 
as he paces the drawing-room, while she is engaged with 
Cissie deciding the momentous question ; whether her 
traveling suit shall be grey or light brown. At last 
she arrives, and losing no time he says, “You are the 
only one who seems to be able to do anything success- 
fully for Edythe or Ned, so I have come to ask your help. 
You are going to the Collins’s to dinner to-night, are 
you not?” 

“Yes. It will be the first place I have gone, and no 
one else is to be there, so I thought there would be 
nothing out of the way in my going. What can I do 
for you there? ” 

“At the trial when I cross-examined Roland’s valet, 
he became confused, and from his appearance led me to 
to believe that he knew something more about the con- 
tents of that letter and Roland’s purposes, than he chose 
to tell. I have had a close watch kept on him ever since. 
The result has been to confirm my suspicions. He won’t 
talk, however, and his devotion to his master is remark- 
able, and his hatred for Ned equally so. It seems a small 
thing; but it is in neglecting these small things that 
we often make our worst mistakes. So I am bound to 
get at the bottom of it.” 

“How can I help you?” 


20G 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“I think, that if I could examine him from the other 
side of the case, I might make something of him. It is 
worth trying at all events. I have a fancy for detective 
work of the right kind. If you could persuade Mr. Col- 
lins to let me see this man in one of his offices and under 
the name of an assistant, I would disguise myself, so he 
could never know me.” 

“And then you could draw him out. I see. You 
may depend on me. The dear old man is quite in 
love with me himself, so I know he will do what I 
ask him.” 

“I would see him myself; but he has the reputation 
among the younger lawyers of being very inaccessible, 
and he might look upon my request as a piece of imper- 
tinence; while if you propose it, he will think it at w’orst 
no more than a piece of girlish folly and may become 
interested in it.” 

Gertie w^as as good as her word. By using some of the 
diplomacy, with which most women are gifted by nature, 
she made it appear almost as though it were his proposal. 
Mr. Collins was so much pleased with himself for think- 
ing of it, that he wanted to examine the man himself. 
It was far more difficult to get him out of that idea than 
to obtain his consent to Jack’s plan. He had been very 
much distressed by the misfortunes of the Saxon family 
and at having to conduct the prosecution against Ned, 
so was delighted at the chance of doing them a service. 

So successful was the disguise, which the costumer and 
Jack between them succeeded in arranging, that Gertie 
herself, who had insisted on seeing it, was deceived at first. 
As he left her, she wished him all success and asked him 


THAT GLISTENS. 


207 


half in earnest, half in jest, whether she would pray for it. 
In the same tone he answered, “ Pray that the Recording 
Angel may drop a tear to blot out all the fibs I shall tell 
this afternoon. May he be something of a Jesuit and 
think that in this case ‘the end justifies the means.’” 

Arrived at Mr. Collins’s oflice, he had the table, at 
which he was to sit, drawn to a corner, where but little 
light could fall on him, then adjusting a pair of eye- 
glasses, a precaution adopted probably because of some 
novel he had read, proceeded to busy himself with the 
pile of papers before him. When the valet entered he 
was deep in their consideration. Withdrawing his atten- 
tion from them apparently with some difficulty, he began 
to speak in a formal tone, slowly and distinctly, watching 
closely the effect of each word. Gustave was a Swede, 
so that his words, which would probably have sounded 
strange to an American, were well calculated to make an 
impression on him. 

“ The authorities have not been satisfied with the way 
in which the trial of Edward Saxon was conducted. Mr. 
Collins is therefore looking up testimony to enable him 
to reopen the case.” (An impossibility.) “ He asked 
me to look over the testimony, to see whether I could 
find anything worth investigating. There is scarcely 
anything. However, I notice here — no, here it is — that 
the attorney for the defence asked you something about 
a letter from Roland, evidently the same one that he 
afterwards introduced ; but he stopped short after the 
first question. Was there anything more you knew about 
it?” 

The man looked around the room uneasily, moved 


208 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


about in bis chair and after a long pause answered, 
nothing except that he knew it had been sent. 

“ Well, if you know nothing else, I might as well go 
on to something different. But this is very important, 
for their whole defence is based on that letter.” Tenta- 
tively he goes on, “ If we could prove it a forgery for in- 
stance, then there would be no good cause for the shoot- 
ing and we might hang Saxon yet.” An intense expres- 
sion of pleasure flashed across Gustave’s face, and he 
began, “ If I thought — ” then changed his mind. “ If 
that letter is so important to them, why do the other 
side want to be asking me about it just as your honor 
has been ? ” 

“Oh they are probably afraid you know too much 
and want to get you out of the country, if they find you 
do.” 

“ If that letter wasn’t true would it do as well as if it 
were a forgery?” 

Jack begins to see light, but fears that the valet may 
be' cunning of fence ; so it is not till after some thought, 
that he answers : Gustave in the mean time staring at 
him with ill-concealed anxiety. “ Yes, for all cause for 
the crime would then be gone.” 

“ And if the marriage was legal, would that do also ?” 

Jack almost spoilt the whole affect of. his manner, by 
his strong desire to spring from his chair in surprise and 
joy ; but controlled it by a powerful effort, aided by the 
thought that the man might be inventing to help his 
revenge. 

“Yes, that would do too,” he said calmly. “ If that is 
so, you must tell me all you know, so that we shall lose 


THAT GLISTENS. 


209 


no time in hunting up the proof.’^ Then as if delighted 
to unburden his mind of what had been so long locked 
up within it, he poured forth his story in such a torrent 
of words, that his English, as a rule excellent, became 
confused and often mixed with Swedish. Jack had fre- 
quently to interrupt him, and much difficulty in under- 
standing him. To save the reader the trouble, we shall 
translate his words into plain English, and add a few 
things he did not know. Victor for a long time had 
been thinking over the plan, which had been suggested 
to him by the conduct of the servant in Hazel Kirke. 
Dr. Dixon’s death occuring soon afterward, removed the 
most serious obstacle to its accomplishment ; for of course, 
he knew of the existence of the license, and it had been 
left in his possession. Victor as one of his executors 
easily made opportunity for a man, under his instructions 
to obtain possession of and destroy it. This same man 
stole and destroyed the records of about that time from 
the County Clerk’s office. 8o all was ready for the 
springing of the mine. Victor still hesitated, however, 
swung hither and thither by every blast of passion, till 
Christmas Eve. He had just heard of the burning of 
the County Clerk’s office. So fortune seemed to have 
removed the only chance of failure and detection. We 
were spectators of that contest ; we know his evil genius 
conquered, and we have seen the consequences. Gustave 
had no idea what had become of the man who stole the 
records and license, and said furthermore that Victor 
was sure they had been destroyed. Jack saw how very 
difficult a road he had to travel, even though the first 
step had been so successfully taken. He had no proof, 
14 


210 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


save Gustave’s word, and he would not testify if he found 
it was to benefit those, for whom he had so intense a 
hatred. Getting rid of him and assuring him that his 
testimony would in all likelihood lead to a new trial ; he 
was just wishing he had some hidden witnesses, when a 
door opened and Ada Merton came in. He had a hidden 
witness, yet scarcely the one he would have choosen. 
Though he rose as she entered wearing a thick crape 
veil, he was silent, not knowing whether she recognized 
him or not. Her first words reassured him. “ Do not 
be alarmed or disappointed, sir, at my having overheard 
your conversation with this man Gustave. Our objects 
are the same. I came here to see whether anything 
could be done toward re-opening the case, as you call 
it, and I was referred to you. Probably I can help 
you.” 

“I shall be glad of your help. Madam.” 

“ I hate Ned Saxon so, that I would do anything, give 
anything, if I could injure him. You must strain every 
nerve, spare neither time nor money, leave no stone un- 
turned to hunt him down. And if you succeed in hang- 
ing him, I shall give you the largest fee you ever received.” 
He could see her cold grey eyes glisten, even through 
the veil. 

“Though to touch him by this means will benefit his 
silly sister ; yet her pride has had its fall, her name has 
been dragged through the mire, and some of it must stick. 
But enough of this. Let me hear your plans. You 
must be convinced that I am an ally now, and if I can 
help you with my money or in any other way, I shall 
do it.” 


THAT GLISTENS, 


211 


Jack would gladly have disclosed who he was, and 
put an end to this scene and her insults to Edythe ; but 
the thought that she might aid him, and certainly could 
do no more than offend his ears, led him to continue his 
dissimulation. 

“ The first thing I can think of, is to try to trace the 
man who stole those records. The valet, you perhaps 
heard, had no idea where he was.” 

“ I ca^ aid you at once then. I know that this man 
is out of the country somewhere. Victor told me so. 
Where it was I can’t think. But I know he received 
several letters from him. If you would examine Mr. 
Roland’s letters, you might find some clue. I shall give 
you a note to the man in charge of the house, which will 
enable you to look over them without further trouble.” 
She sits down and writes. 

“ What is your name ? ” 

“ James Crogget, Madam.” He has been expecting 
this. 

“ Here it is ; and now can you think of anything else 
to be done ? ” 

Nothing, till after I have gone through those letters.” 

“Then I shall bid you, good morning. If you need 
any money to prosecute your researches, I will supply 
it ; and I wish you to report to me your success with 
those letters.” She gave him her card, bowed and passed 
out. 

“ Whew ! Who would have dreamt of this ! It may 
all be for the best though. Let me see, I must telegraph 
to Ned at once. I wonder what Edythe is doing. To 
think that Ada Merton should offer her help in clearing 


212 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


Edythe’s name, and should do it in a substantial way, 
too,” looking at her note, as these thoughts pass through 
his mind. “It is indeed, fighting the devil with his own 
weapons.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Though Jack can only wonder what Edythe is doing, 
if he knew, how he would long to accompany us, as we 
take flight to the South on the wings of thought 
and see for ourselves. But before we do so, it will 
be better to make a short stop in front of the door 
from which he is descending. His disguise has been 
removed, and he is himself again. As he reaches 
the street he is accosted by Gustave, who was about 
to ascend the steps. Let us hear what they are say- 
ing; it may prove interesting. The Swede is telling 
Jack, that he has just come from the District Attorney’s 
oflSce, where he had fooled a young lawyer into believ- 
ing that his master’s marriage was legal and that a 
license had been obtained ; but that all this was false. 
He tells this apparently so truthfully that Jack believes 
him. While he is pondering over it and asking a few 
questions in a disheartened tone, we shall make our trip 
to North Carolina. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


213 


Edythe is wandering up the stream that waters the 
base of Old Round Top ; a lovely walk by the merry 
brook with its melodious rippling. Poor Jacobite, who 
accompanies her, cannot enjoy its cheerful music, cannot 
hunt the jolly birds that flit about them, challenging 
him to a chase. No ; he walks along in dignified silence 
out of respect for his mistress’s sadness. Why is it she 
no longer plays with him as she used to do, though now 
they are in the country that both of them love so dearly ? 
Why does he never hear her merry laugh that was wont 
to ring out so cheerily ? She was always sad now, and 
never more so than as she reaches her favorite spot, 
where the stream falling in a foaming sheet plunges into 
a deep, calm pool, surrounded by overhanging trees and 
bushes. There under a shade so dense that a sunbeam 
rarely penetrates, Edythe reclines in mournful reverie, 
brooding over her misfortunes. To-day they seem so 
overwhelming that she can bear them no longer. Why 
should she not put an end to them ? The water lies 
temptingly beneath with its dark bosom unbroken save 
w^here the fall churns the water to a snowy white. What 
whiter, purer shroud could she have than it would 
make? To her disordered fancy it seems placed there 
for that very purpose. Who was it told her ? Where 
did she read it ? That drowning was the least painful 
death. Why should she not? No one will miss her 
much now. Ned will soon have Gertie to think of, to 
care for. If she lives, it will only be to be a burden 
upon him. If she dies, he will sometimes give a thought 
to the sister he once had loved. Jack, too, will miss her 
at first : but as she told him, he will some day marry 


214 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


another girl, who may make him happy, as she could 
not, who will help him in that noble career she was sure 
lay before him, and in which she could only be a drag. 
But then to think of another with the right to cheer and 
comfort him, to share his every thought, to be his wdfe ! 
Ah ! She could not bear to think of it. She would be 
free at last! She half rises, when J acobite, who has been 
at her feet looking up sorrowfully into her face, rises too, 
and placing one paw appealingly on her arm, rubs his 
nose against her, as if to show that whoever else may 
desert her, he will always be her faithful servitor. 

His action brings a healthful change of thought, and 
sinking back again, she caresses his handsome head, 
saying, “I was wrong, Jacky. You would miss me, if 
no one else did.” For a little while he rests his head 
upon her lap, wagging his tail and blinking sympatheti- 
cally at her. But her thoughts stray once more, and 
unintentionally she gives him a push, which he interprets 
to mean his dismissal, and he retires. A squirrel at that 
moment attracts his attention, and the prospect of a 
chase is too tempting to be resisted. Edythe sees him 
go, and thinks he, too, has deserted her. 

The dark green water is still there, and as she watches 
it hurrying down over the rocks above, she thinks of it 
as showing her the way. Its broken course and rushing 
fall seem typical of her troubled life, w’hile below it 
finds peace and quiet in the restful bosom of the pool. 
Why should she not, too, find peace and quiet there ? 
One plunge and all will be over. She will join her 
mother, where no bitter tongue can make her feel her 
wretched lot, where she wdll be at rest. 


THAT GLISTENS. 


215 


Where is Jacobite now ? Why don’t he come to the 
rescue ? Don’t stand there wagging your tail as you 
look down the path. You should be up and doing. 
Your mistress needs you far more now than she ever did 
before, as she draws near to what in a few short seconds 
more will be her last resting place. She murmurs, 
“ Good-bye, Ned. Now and then perhaps you will 
think of your wretched sister. Good-bye, good-bye, 
Jack. We might have been so happy.” Is there none 
to save her now, none to keep her back. The depths of 
the water answer “ None !” She is on the very brink, 
and one step more will end it all. Jacobite! Ah, 
Jacobite, where is your boasted instinct now? Can you 
feel no presentiment of what she is about to do? Is 
there nothing to save her ? Must she perish thus un- 
heeded, like many another as young, as lovely, done to 
death by man’s foul treachery ? But no 1 At last the 
dog gives a bark, a joyful bark. It restrains her for one 
instant, and in that instant she hears Ned’s cheery voice 
calling for her, Edythe I Edythe I Where are you ?” 
A moment later he is with her, little thinking how near 
that meeting had been so sad a one. 

Splendid news, Edythe ! I might almost say the best 
news. Jack telegraphs that he has come across some- 
thing that leads him to believe a license was obtained. 
He will follow it up and write particulars. Hurrah for 
Jack ! All will come out right now. Why, what is the 
matter with you ?” The expression of supreme resolve 
and resignation, the far away look of one who has bid- 
den farewell to life and hope, has not left her eyes, her 
face, and it is only at his question that she banishes it. 


216 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


•‘You look as if you didn’t believe it.” 

“ I cannot.” 

“But why? Jack is not often mistaken, and he 
would not send us word if he didn’t feel pretty confident.” 

“ His desire that it should be so, has led him astray. 
No, my mind is too accustomed to think of things as 
they are, for me to delude myself by false hopes. The 
happiness and the light of my life is gone. I can be 
but a miserable burden on you all from now on.” 

“What an absurdity! Can you believe that I could 
ever think of you as such? You should not let your 
morbid fancies take so strong a hold on you. Come, 
shake them off and be yourself again.” 

“It is all well enough for you to laugh and be gay, 
for you have Gertie to make you so ; but I — ” A sob 
breaks off the sentence. 

“ This news is what made me feel so, and it should do 
so to you also. Wait till we get Jack’s letter, and then 
we shall know what is the truth.” 

They were destined to hear it even before his letter 
could have reached them. 

Jack though disappointed, as we have said, continued 
to ask questions of the Swede. One of these was, why 
he had taken the trouble to come to him ? The answer 
was, because they talked of re-opening the case, and he 
thought Jack should know. This at once aroused the 
latter’s suspicions, and in connection with the intense 
satisfaction that appeared in Gustave’s face at the dis- 
heartened tone of his voice, led him to believe that there 
might still be something in what he had said before ; 
that perhaps the man had been even sharper than he 


THAT GLISTENS. 


217 


thought, had watched for him as he left the office and 
followed him home. Still it was evidently dangerous to 
trust to anything so accomplished a liar might say. 
His suspicions seemed to receive confirmation from the 
fact that Gustave followed him at a distance as he hur- 
ried round to Roland’s house, where the note readily 
obtained permission for him, from the man in charge, 
to go through Victor’s letters ; a long and tedious task. 

At last his patience was in some degree rewarded. 
A small portion of a torn letter was found, in which 
some one wrote, that he was in need of money, and that, 
if he did not get it, he would come home and make it 
hot for Mr. Roland, by publishing why he went abroad, 
and letting his wife know all about it. That was all. 
No date or name helped him to the solution of the diffi- 
culty. Not even a water mark was there to tell where 
the paper had been made. A little thing ; but it is 

trifles light as air ” that furnish to some, proof as strong 
as adamant. It was a long day since Jack had been as 
happy. Though nothing more was found, that was 
enough to make him believe that all would yet be well. 

The tremendous difficulties in the way of clearing 
Edythe’s name, moved him not a whit. It was enough 
to know that they were but difficulties, not impossibili- 
ties. He knew he must arrange a plan of action, and the 
sending of a detective to Kentucky was his first thought. 
Before he did that, however, he must let Gertie know of 
the great discovery. 

As he was descending the stairs, who should he meet 
but Ada Merton. “So you were the man who played 
the part at Mr. Collins’s office. James Crogget, indeed. 


218 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


I congratulate you on your skill in lying, whicli can 
only have been acquired by long practice.” Jack smiled, 
but did not forget be was talking to a woman. “ I see 
you do not seem discouraged by wbat Gustave afterwards 
said.” 

“ No. Thanks to your note, I have found enough to 
enable me to believe bis first statement rather than bis 
last.” 

“ You promised to report ; but I suppose you can break 
your promises as well as tell untruths.” 

“ No. I’ll tell you all I know. It is what you told 
me. That man is abroad somewhere. I found a letter, 
which leads me to think that, and confirms Gustave’s 
statement.” 

“Since you have performed your part of the pro- 
gramme so well, I shall perform mine. If you need any 
money, call on me and I shall gladly furnish it,” with a 
sarcastic smile. “It must give you great pleasure to 
know, that in helping the sister, you are destroying the 
brother; that the discovery of the truth will lead to 
Ned Saxon’s execution.” 

“ Scarcely. A man cannot be tried twice for his life 
for the same crime. Ned is safe.” 

“ What ? Oh ! I see. That was another lie. What 
a Machiavelli we have developed here. That old Italian 
would blush indeed, before the product of Modern Phi- 
ladelphia. But, never mind, I can comfort you with the 
knowledge of how the world looks upon your dainty, 
delicate Edythe now. There are very few, though I 
have tried hard, whom I can convince, that she was the 
ignorant, innocent plaything you would make her out. 


THAT GLISTENS, 


219 


That her friends should have been so careless. Ah! 
when one has the reputation of a prude, one is apt to be 

the very worst ” And on she went, her fury rapidly 

increasing. We will no longer follow the angry woman’s 
torrent of abuse, much of which would be unfit for repe- 
tition. Jack, unable to pass her on the narrow stair- 
case, closed his ears and thought of other things, till she 
was done. 

Cissie was with Gertie when he told her his discovery. 
Seeing only the bright side of the picture, they were 
overjoyed. They laughed at Jack when he attempted to 
suggest, that the proof of what they believed might be 
difficult. They even finished by infecting him with their 
confidence. “ How much we owe to you, Gertie 1 If it 
had not been for your determination, Ned might have 
sacrificed himself for nothing. You were the only one 
of us that kept your senses. I always said you would 
surprise us ail some day, and now you have done it I I 
almost believe you are the queen of the fairies come to 
earth to take care of us. If you could only bring to 
light those records now, I would be sure of it.” 

“ I’m just about big enough to be her Majesty.” 

“Yes, and pretty enough, too.” 

“ I only wish I was Titania. I’d have those pa- 
pers here in a hurry. I’d "wave my magic wand three 
times before this door,” (suiting the action to the word) 
“ and cry, ‘ Hie thee hither Puck I bringing with thee 
what we wish ! ’ And he would burst open the door 
with a cry of ” 

“ Here they are ! I know it must be what you want,” 


220 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


exclaimed Bill dashing in, almost knocking Gertie over, 
as he flung back the door. He held a roll of papers in 
his hand, which he at once tossed to Gertie. Without a 
suspicion of greeting to him, they hastily tore them 
open, to And among them not only the record, but the 
license, too, which the thief had kept to use in forcing 
money from Victor. Bill had been lucky enough to run 
across them in the satchel at the Alcasar. Though 
knowing nothing of the tragic events at home, he felt 
sure that some mischief must be on foot, so hurried home 
as fast as steam would let him. 

Jack and Gertie overwhelm him with thanks and 
congratulations, while Cissie merely says: ‘‘No wonder 
they congratulate you. It is so rarely that you show 
good sense, that it ought to be a subject of the liveliest 
congratulation for your friends, when you do.” 

Bill does not attempt to answer her sharp speech, 
though a merry twinkle appears in his eyes. Afterward 
when Jack and Gertie wisely leave ; the one to tele- 
graph South at once, the other on some pretext, he turns 
to her with, “ That sarcastic remark of yours was s'weetest 
music to my ears. It shows that you are not changed, 
and you must acknowledge I have fairly won my bride.” 


THAT GLISTENS, 


221 


CHAPTER XXVL 

Two years have passed away, and in the gray of an 
Autumn morning, our old friend Jack is standing on the 
dock of the American Line, looking far away down the 
river with an expectant expression on his joyful face. 
So joyful is it, that even the mist seems infected by it 
and in his neighborhood takes on a lighter, more cheer- 
ful hue. The sun at last clears away the mist and dries 
the dripping masts and decks of a ship at anchor there, 
dries the dripping clothes of the men and women gath- 
ered on the dock. It mounts higher and higher and 
many are the grumblings at this delay ; but Jack never 
loses his hopeful expression. And well may he be hope- 
ful, for the steamer they await is bringing back all that 
makes life lovely to him, his hope, his heart, his all. As 
the great steamer draws near with its mass of human 
freight, he sees but one face, one form. Long before any 
of his neighbors have made out their friends, his eyes rest 
on the figure that is so dear to him. Foremost among 
the crowd he gains the deck. A single look, a single 
word tells him that all is well now and forevermore. 

The winter has passed away and once again we find 
Edythe and Jack at their favorite haunt in North Caro- 
lina. They are in a little rustic summer-house that over- 
looks the river, and before them is the well remembered 
scene, while at their feet lies Jacobite. Edythe is 
speaking. 


222 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


“Ah Jack, though I could not think it then, as I 
should, I know now that that dreadful time was all for 
the best. Mother, you know, could not have lived more 
than a few weeks longer at the most ; and I shudder even 
now to think what my life with Victor must have been, 
from which there was no other escape. While with you 
it is so happy, so happy, Jack.’^ 

“May you always think so, Edythe. Mine with you 
could uever be otherwise.” 

“ Jack, do you know I loved you even when I married 
Victor. I did not know it then ; for he charmed me, as 
a snake would a bird. But looking back now, remem- 
bering how I felt the night I told you of my engage- 
ment; the longing to be free, that more than once came 
to me even when Victor was still in love with me, still 
kind ; the feeling of joy, that now and then would come 
through all my pain, that at last it was not wrong to 
dream of you ; all this tells me that even then I loved 
you, that I did not know myself.” 

His answer was a highly satisfactory one ; but we are 
not prepared to state w^hat it was. 

They were interrupted by the arrival of Bill and Cis- 
sie. As soon as the preliminary arrangements xiave been 
made and the four are together on the porch, the latter 
begins, “ Next time you want us to join you anywhere. 
Jack, you must come on to see that Will” (she has 
changed the name since their marriage) “gets there 
safely. It is too big a contract for me to undertake.” 

“ Don’t listen to her slanders.” 

“They’re not slanders. Wait till I have told you all, 
and then judge for yourselves. First when we were 


THAT GLISTENS. 


223 


leaving home, he sent onr trunks to the Broad Street 
Station, and thought that was enough to get them on. 
So when we reached Baltimore, we had to wait several 
days, till we could have them sent to us.’’ 

“Yes ; Cissie wasn’t willing to appear in Washington 
without all her fixings and jimcracks. She was sure she 
would captivate at least half a dozen Senators and Mem- 
bers of the Cabinet, if not the President. Poor girl, not 
even one would look at her.” 

“Never mind, Cissie,” said Edythe, “We heard of 
your success there, so know how much to believe of what 
he says.” 

“Well, we reached Washington safely enough and so 
did our trunks ; but when we got there. Bill (these ad- 
ventures are so much like his old self, I must call him 
that) had left all his clothes at home. I am sure I don’t 
know what he meant to dress in.” 

“ Come now, Ciss ! Yon know there were half a dozen 
handkerchiefs, a necktie and some collars.” 

“ That may be the way they dress in South America, 
Bill. But certainly not here,” remarked Jack. 

“And you have gone back on me too ! ” 

“When we left Washington everything was correct, 
for I saw to it myself. As we were going through Vir- 
ginia, I noticed that Bill would keep taking the checks 
from his pocket and looking at them with a puzzled 
expression. Finally he came over to me with a look of 
triumph, saying * Ciss, you have made a mistake.’ He 
insisted upon it that they were checks for some way 
station, and it was all I could do to persuade him that 
the ‘way’ was to be joined to the ‘rail-’ on the line 


224 


ALL IS NOT GOLD 


above. Then at Lynchburg, while we were changing 
wheels ; trunks, I think, they call it.” 

“Wrong again, Cissie. Your mind is crazy on the 
subject of trunks. I suppose you’ll be wanting to wear 
them, next. Trucks, you mean.” 

“Well, then, trucks. At any rate, he got off to see it 
done. Why in the world he took them, I or no other 
sensible person could understand; but he carried off 
with him his new overcoat and my hand-bag. The 
train left sooner than he expected. He had to run for it 
and left both behind.” 

“What did I marry a rich wife for, if it wasn’t to be 
able to lose an overcoat when I pleased.” 

“ But you lost at the same time my patent hair-pins 
and curling-tongs. I will have to sponge on you, 
Edythe.” 

“ What’s my neighbor’s is mine and what’s mine’s my 
own,” interposed Bill. 

“ Then he made me stay over a day at the railroad 
hotel at Morristown, without a solitary thing to do, so 
that he could drive with some one he met on the cars to 
see an old volcano, where sulphur could be taken out 
‘in large and paying’ quantities. I was sure he only 
enticed Will away to rob him, so you may imagine the 
pleasure of my day. Then just now he went to sleep on 
the train. It was all I could do by shaking and pinch- 
ing to get him off at this station. So you must see that 
he goes straight when we leave.” 

“I’ll do so gladly, providing I can put a straight- 
jacket on him,” said Jack. 

“ To paraphrase somebody, save me from my wife, and 


THAT GLISTENS. 


225 


I can save myself from all others,” began Bill. “ Now, 
listen to my slander, which is far more interesting. What 
do you think has happened to Ada Merton.” 

“What?” 

“ He has been rehearsing on me,” says Cissie. 

“ Her heart’s in the Highlands, her heart is not here. 

Her heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing a dear.” 

“ That is as some fellows I know do it. She has gone 
to London to buy one. In plain English, she has gone 
abroad in hopes of capturing a title. Don’t I hope she 
may get it.” 

“ She probably will,” said Jack. “ I can tell you some 
gossip, too. Lizzie Collins’s engagement is announced to 
Arthur Scorville.” 

Bill answers “ I expected it. So k la Ollendorf, the 
great -grand son of the shoemaker, is to marry the 
daughter of the blacksmith” 

Here Ned comes up, fine looking as ever, and beside 
him, Gertie, a perfect flower garden. Her arms and 
dress are so hidden by the mass of azaleas of every 
color, with which they are laden, that you can only see 
her face above a sea of lovely blossoms, while about her 
head she wears a wreathe of arbutus. So fair and girlish 
does she look, that no one would imagine the youngster 
upstairs, who is just beginning to toddle about and find 
himself the monarch of all he surveys, would call her 
Mother. 

Here, where we first met them, let us bid them all 
farewell, as we have nothing more to relate. Happiness, 
it is said, is uneventful. Though you could not convince 
Jack of this. Every day is to him a whole chapter of 
15 


226 ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS. 


events. The most interesting of which is, when, in the 
evening after his day’s work, Edythe sings song after 
song to him alone. What memories of the past they 
recall! How often has he heard them! But one old 
favorite she never sings now and that is, “At the Ferry.” 


THE END. 


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